The Sour Grapes Chronicles

by The Incredible Werekitty

How to Herd Pegasai... Or Not...

Golden Wingspan, Royal Chamberlain, first adviser to the Emperor of Griffonia and “honestly” diabolical mistress of all she surveyed, led the Equestrian dignitary Lady Sour Grapes of Ponyville, First Equestrian Minister of Snark and Royal Winemaker to the Diarchy of Equestria, down the hallway towards one of the palace’s many courtyards. She moved briskly enough to make it seem as if the destination was important and yet slowly enough that the pony had time to see the grandeur of the palace as she was paraded past it all.

“I’m certain that you will find the books you seek out in the merchant’s quarter of the city. I could give you full access to the palace library but tonight the Emperor has to do research on some previously made laws that may or may not change the context of one currently in the parliamentary queue.”

“Hm. Even emperors have to do their research,” Grapes observed as she trotted along behind Goldie.

“His eminence takes his role in our nation very seriously,” she agreed, leading her past a room filled with expensive-looking pottery. “So, I am to understand that as the Royal Winemaker you are actually qualified to discern the quality of potables.”

“I do have a discerning palate, yes,” Grapes said with a nod. “As a winemaker, and not just the Royal Winemaker, I have to make sure that the wine I produce is potable, and delicious. I take pride in my product, because it is my family’s business, and intend for it to continue to supply fine wines.”

“Good to know. We have a variety of wines and spirits here in the empire and I am looking forward to hearing a qualified outsider’s perspective would be of them. We normally only get those who feign knowledge in favor of a price tag,” Goldie explained with a tone of disdain.

“Probably intermediaries to the various liquor sellers around the Empire, I would imagine. Their commissions hinging upon the price of the wine or spirit you purchase from the merchant or family business they’re representing,” Grapes observed thoughtfully.

“Many are nobles who cannot tell the difference between water fresh from a glacial spring in Yakyakistan and water taken from a drinking fountain in the public schools in our lower-end district,” the griffon said with a rather malicious smirk. “You would be amused by how many praise the fountain-water when in an incorrectly labeled bottle.”

“Oh, greatly. I’ve seen it done with wine, too,” Grapes observed. “If I’m selling to certain nobility I just get fancier bottles, have my staff artist design something appropriately ‘fancy’, and up the price by fifty percent. It helps keep the payroll solvent.”

“Your… design artist?” Goldie paused a moment, before smirking. “Ah yes… the poofy-haired tagalong. His presence had me recheck my notes on you. I never planned on meeting any more of your employees than merely your honor-guard. Do I have to worry about Mister Dusty making an encore to the Griffonian Slopes?”

“I was about to ask you how you knew that Thistledown was my staff artist. As for Dusty, he’s off on a kelp fisher in the ocean, somewhere, trying to find himself,” Grapes replied. “Certain events in Ponyville left him a bit rattled; and he needed some time at sea, doing honest work, to clear his head.”

“A most curious thing for such a high-profile individual to do, however the whims of nobility are often hard to discern or predict.” Goldie observed as she paused before a guard and tapped an unbuttoned collar with her claw before continuing, leaving him to correct the faux-pas. “Also as an heir to the Diamond family title he has his overbearing grandmother to deal with. I do hope that the middle of the ocean is far enough away from Pave Diamond that he can have his moment of ‘finding himself’, he already has TWO temporary versions of himself to deal with.”

“... Wait, what?” Grapes asked, raising an eyebrow. “Dusty’s got two what to deal with?”

“Temporary versions of himself. He is simultaneously Dusty The World-Class Athlete, and Diamond Dust The Noble. He is both and yet he is neither… otherwise he wouldn’t be ‘looking’ for his real self, would he?” The Chamberlain pointed out.

“Well… The whole ‘finding himself’ was to really give himself time to think. Apparently he very nearly did something stupid for the sake of love,” Grapes replied. “Namely go and turn himself in to Grandmother Pave. Charming woman. She doesn’t have an arrangement with the Griffon Empire. I think that’s a good thing, because she’d surely give the poor soul who ate her indigestion. Grandma Pave, probably in an effort to punish Dusty, would have shackled him with the most lack-witted, air-headed, and genuinely selfish unicorn ”

“Yes, but when he finishes thinking, I believe he may come back with a new self. I understand from Admiral Gator that life at sea is transformative,” she concluded, leading Grapes into the courtyard where the Storm Riders were admiring how the dark metal of their new empirical markers stood out against their vests. “And here we are. I see our Princess has freed up the young ambassador to join you on your little shopping spree.”

Earshot was off to one side of the group reading a short list, his lips moving as he sounded out various items.

“...one cauldron: standard size 2, one set of glass or crystal vials, one telescope, one set of brass scale-mail…” the night pony took a moment to consider the list. “Do I really need all of this for one day?”

“You may be going for more than one day, Earshot,” Grapes said. “After all, you shouldn’t let an opportunity for learning more about a different culture pass you by. Additionally, you may get lessons in things that Miss Cheerilee doesn’t teach back home… Are you sure that’s not supposed to be scales? You know like for weighing stuff? Though the scalemail would not surprise me.”

“It is scale-mail, Lady Grapes,” came a rather sturdy-sounding voice to her left. She turned and saw the light gray griffon in a uniform approaching.

“Did I forget to pronounce a hyphen or something?”

“Somewhat. It’s just an odd inflection to pronounce that manner of armor as one word instead of two. More of a nit-picking between civilians and military. Also I was clarifying that his school list does indeed request he bring some armor rather than a device for measuring,” the gray griffon explained.

“Lady Sour Grapes, May I present to you your… ‘handler’.” Goldie said with a rather sly smirk. “Captain Garrison of the Griffonian Marine Corps. Talon-picked by me from a short list offered by the oh-so-gracious Admiral Gator.”

“So… You’re our chaperone, and we appear to all be going shopping at the same time,” Grapes said looking amused. “You have my condolences.”

“Condolences?” Garrison asked before Goldie interrupted.

“Well now. You have your bit-bags? Good. Your lists? Good. Wonderful. Now off with the lot of you. The last thing you wish to do is be caught out in the streets after dark… it’s already ‘interesting’ enough during the daylight hours.” She took a moment to look at the sudden presence of Thistledown and chuckled. “Behave yourself, Tagalong. You’re STILL an unexpected quantity.”

“I do my best,” he replied with a little salute.

“Okay. Let’s get this disaster started,” Grapes said with a chuckle.

Garrison got them all into the lizard-driven transport once more and a few blocks later they found themselves in the fringes of an area that was a hive of activity. Shops and restaurants lined the walls of the main and second floors of buildings while stalls of all kinds squatted up and down the streets, many with Griffons crying out the declarations of their wares. Vivid colors, loud sounds and unique smells all assaulted her senses in an attempt to establish dominance. It was a far cry from the merchants of ponyville that was for certain.

“All right ponies, welcome to the Grand Bazaar, that’s spelt with a capital G and a capital B,” Captain Garrison said letting them off the transport. “Clothing. Weapons. Magic. Food. If it exists in the empire this is your best shot at where you can get your uh, hooves on it.”

Grapes looked amused. Garrison just continued.

“Now I understand that pony merchant districts are fairly organised. Not so much here. You will find little rhyme and reason to this place, there is no ‘eatery district’ or a ‘metalworker’s district’ but there are spots where a family has passed down a shop or a stall slot for generations so those are good to navigate by, and the best to barter with. Don’t count on your ‘Imperial Markers’ to get you better deals, just maybe more honest ones if anything. If we Griffons know anything it’s the value of a bit and we have the predatory instinct to get as many of them out of a tourist as we can.”

“Mister Garrison, sir?” Earshot interrupted “Would you be able to help me get the things on my list that I need?”

“Certainly Ambassador Earshot, and it’s either Garrison or Captain, thank you.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Where was I? Oh yes… Now I know that you all think that this is all fun and a new experience but remember this.” Garrison continued, leading them towards the big archway that read “Grand Bazaar”. “You are visitors here, there are a lot of griffons that will see you as easy marks, and some who will drag you into an alley only for your exact weight in ground meat to appear in a seedy stall later. We try our best to keep black market meat from reaching tables but to be honest even the city guard are not infallible. So keep close, don’t wander off and…”

“You know they’ve already scattered to the four winds, right?” Grapes observed drolly.

“What? SON-OF-A-BEACHBALL!” He cried out when he saw his audience had been reduced to two… Sour Grapes and Earshot. “I only took my eyes off of them for a moment! How did they vanish like that?”

“I wish I knew,” Grapes said with a roll of her eyes. “Now you know why I gave you my condolences. If I had been notified of this excursion earlier, I would have warned the organizers that we should not all go out as a flock, because trying to keep them together on a shopping trip is like attempting to herd felines. You may have heard me jokingly mention leashes a time or two. It’s because of incidents like this one. I’ve learned that I can only take them out in small, easily controlled groups of two to three.”

“Noted. Duly noted, my Lady.” Garrison acknowledged before smoothing down his ruffled feathers and squaring his shoulders. “So… my orders are to aid the Ambassador in fulfilling his school list and…?”

“I guess keeping me from being kidnapped by shady black market meat dealers,” Grapes quipped amusedly. “Also keep an eye out for stray pegasai. They’re grown-ups and can take care of themselves. They may come back a little worse for wear, but I’m sure they’ll have interesting stories of their adventures. Next time we’ll bring the leashes and inhibitor collars.”

“Inhibitor collars? Do ponies have those as well, Lady Grapes?”

“Got to keep pegasai prisoners doing their jail time somehow, Captain Garrison,” Grapes replied with a smirk. “A prison isn’t very effective if an inmate can just fly over the walls, now is it?”

“Very true. Most of our prisons have large skylights with iron bars over them. Apparently it’s demoralising to show them the freedom they cast aside when they went against the law.” Garrison said leading Earshot and Grapes through the crowds. “The collars are usually saved for our worst prisoners. The ones that are too dangerous to even execute.”

“So they have some kind of magical power that allows them to cheat death, and come back for a repeat performance?” Grapes asked raising an eyebrow.

“Actually there are some villainous griffons that are too feared or well connected for capital punishment. The well-connected are obvious but the ones that are feared… let’s just say that there are a lot of Griffons that still believe that evil is a real, tangible thing, and that it ‘pools’ in some living creatures more than others.” Garrison explained before noticing Earshot motioning in the direction of a second-hand shop, nodding to him Garrison lead them to its doorway. “They fear that ending the life of somegriff who is unnaturally evil you ‘free’ all that wickedness to go and find its way to somegriff else. Better the wicked you know than one you do not.”

“An interesting way to put it, but I won’t argue. Maybe in the future we can let you use Tartarus for those particularly evil griffons. They’d have a hard time getting past a three-headed dog, and out of a pocket dimension,” Grapes observed.

“Huh. An interesting premise. I’ll leave a note for the Chamberlain so the logistics become her problem and not mine,” the marine said holding the door open for them.

Sour Grapes’ understanding of the Griffon language was rather limited but she did recognise Equestrian when she read it. The sign above the door simply said “Curious Goods”. The interior of the shop was darker and cooler and blissfully quieter than the outside world… and even more cluttered. There was what looked like an endless supply of used items everywhere. Boxes and stacks of items stood in strangely assembled piles that may or may not have had furniture beneath them while paths appeared to be carved around and through them allowing one to walk freely about to browse without so much as brushing up against anything.

“Well, that’s one way to make hoarding profitable,” Grapes quipped, as she looked around the store.

One of the piles shifted ever so slightly and part of it that had looked like a drape of carpet with a western hat on top peeled away from it, revealing a surprisingly young griffon in a paisley cloak and… of course wearing a hat that would not have been out of place in Sweet Apple Acres.

“Oh dear, ambulatory junk. Should we call the… Oh wait, it’s just a griffon. Nevermind,” Grapes said in casual deadpan, with an amused look on her face.

“Oh, Hey. Customers… and ponies too!” He said before striding up to them and smiling. “I believe the proper greeting is… Howdy there buckaroos! Welcome to Curious Goods, where clutter is king!”

“Your boss has a theme in place, I take it?” Grapes asked raising an eyebrow. “‘Western huckster’ isn’t going to get you many sales from Equestrians, I should warn you.”

“My father always told me that unless you’re in show business you’re not in any business.” the griffon said bowing with a sweep of his hat. “Unless you can grab their attention from the start you can’t hope to make the sale. My name is Gallagher and I’ll willingly take free advice when it crosses my palms.”

“My good griffon, there is a time for flamboyance, and a time for showing off the quality of your goods. It depends on the customer. If you have somebody who is looking for expensive stuff, for the sake of having expensive stuff, then yes put on a show. If you’ve got a customer who’s looking for quality goods at a good price, then you should let the goods speak for themselves,” Grapes said with a nod. “Social climbers looking for stuff to show off aren’t the smartest, so a little flash and dazzle will sell them anything, if you can put a good story on it. The smart customers, though, will not be fooled by flash and dazzle. I believe the griffon phrase is ‘selling the sizzle and not the steak’.”

“Good point there Ma’am.” he said as he put the cloak aside revealing some rather Equestrian-looking western garb beneath. It looked a lot like… no, it was EXACTLY like the clothing that Braeburn had sent her pictures of from Appleloosa. She was no Rarity but either it was genuine belt, boots and vest or someone here was an excellent producer of knockoffs. “So, welcome, have a browse, I got hot coffee if you need a drink while you peruse the wares or is there something in particular I can do you for?”

“Well my young friend, here, is getting ready for an excursion to Griffon School, as sort of an exchange student, and needs to be properly supplied,” Grapes replied, indicating Earshot who stood close by. “Also, I was wondering if you’ve ever been to Appleloosa.”

“That I can help you with, ma’am.” Gallagher said as Earshot handed him his list. Looking it over he lead them through an archway of cookware into another section of the store. “Anyways yes, I vacation there. Visited one year because there was an auction of a pony estate with some items I was look’n for and well, I jest fell in love with the place. Heard they had some trouble with the locals… sorry I missed that. Always up fer a scrap m’self.”

“You probably met Appleloosa’s main spokespony, I bet,” Grapes chuckled.

“You mean the self-appointed spokespony.” he chuckled. “I was no sooner all four legs off the stagecoach when this big smiling face was in MY face talking about all the wonders of AAAAAAAAAAAPLE-LOOOSA! I think I would have been more comfortable if it had've been the sheriff giving me a warning about not toleratin’ any troublemakers, nere-do-wells or rabble-rousers in town. Still… wonderful place, fun to just sit on a patio with some cider and watch Braeburn do the same thing on other visitors.”

Grapes chuckled with a smile. “He’s a fun pony, honestly. Over-enthusiastic, but still fun,” she replied with a smile. “Now could you please see to Earshot’s school list, please? You may find him pretty interesting.”

“Well I’m accustomed to ponies… at least the kinds you find around Appleloosa. I’m guessing you don’t all dress and speak like they do… do you?” Gallagher said looking Earshot over and for a moment, he got the strangest look on his face, then it was gone. “Huh… a pegasus built for night-flying. If that don’t beat all.”

“No, we all don’t all talk like they do in Appleloosa. I’m from Ponyville,” Grapes said with a smile. “My cousin, Applejack, does have a southern accent. Braeburn is more western.”

“Duly noted.” The Griffon said as he perused Earshot’s list. “Well son, you’ve come to the right place. Let’s see… writing utensils yep, got those over here. Telescopes, plenty of those, The cauldron’s a little harder… fledglings these days really put those through their paces in class but I should be able to scrounge a few number twos. Oh… right. You’re gonna need some armor. This way please.”

With more confidence than you'd expect from a griffon in a cowboy hat he let them through the topography of well-loved items to a small forest of armor and barding. Solid pieces stood up on tailor’s dummies while “soft” armor like chain and scale mail hung on clothes racks. He began looking through them, occasionally glancing over at Earshot, mentally measuring him up before going back to the rack again. Finally he pulled out a smallish amount and held it out to the night pony.

“Here you go, young’un. Try that on, belonged to about three or four generations before you but it’s sturdy and any damaged parts have been fixed.”

“That suit… WILL protect him in physical education class, will it not?” Garrison asked, his voice coming out awfully serious. Gallagher looked at him as if seeing him for the first time and then managing to recover rather quickly.

“Sir… everything I sell here will do it’s job under the situations they’re meant to endure. I wouldn’t sell any of it otherwise.”

“Tried and true as opposed to new and flashy,” Grapes observed with a nod. “A time where the quality of the goods is selling itself, rather than the salesgriff trying to sell the sizzle.”

While the grownups talked, Earshot wrestled his slight build into the armor, legs finding their proper sheaths easily enough and his head finally popping up out of the neck hole almost as a finale. He blinked a moment as his mane settled back down.

“Did I get it right?” Earshot asked before Garrison moved alongside of him to help his wings find their way out of the proper openings.

“You’re doing better than most first-year cadets I’ve met,” the captain muttered before looking him over. “Isn’t there supposed to be a chain-mail hood with that?”

“A coif would be the correct term, I think,” Grapes said.

“You are both correct,” Gallagher relented before looking around the base of the clothes rack. “Sometimes they don’t stay together… there’s also a helm but many schools have their own so I normally sell them as a separate item. Ah… here you are…”

The shopkeeper helped Earshot worm his head into the coif before standing back to admire the look.

“Tell me about the fit. Are you comfortable in that?” Gallagher asked. “How do you feel?”

“Heavy, like… carrying-grapes-to-the-presses heavy, but all over.” Earshot observed before examining his metal-clad forelegs. “These scales look pretty tough...I’m beginning to get an idea what Spike probably feels like.”

“He probably doesn’t feel like he’s wearing armor, Earshot,” Grapes said with a chuckle. “Considering he was born with the scales, and isn’t wearing anything over them.” She then eyed the armor critically. “Tried and true, but has had some repairs. Probably done by a professional, because nobody wants shoddy armor, except war profiteers…” Grapes leaned close, looking at the scales. “Give yourself a shake, Earshot.”

Earshot took a step away from the adults and did as he told. On an auditory level it sounded like Filthy Rich was jingling ALL of his pocket change. On a visual level the dull brass scales shimmied and shook a half-second out of synch with Earshot’s motions. She glanced over where there were scratches and dents in the armor, and some scales were shinier than others indicating replacement but it all seemed sturdy enough.

Grapes watched, and listened intently, then nodded satisfied. “No loose scales, and none sound ‘off’ which would indicate rust,” Grapes assessed, then turned to Gallagher, and slipped into her bartering stance, which seemed almost like a swordsgriff moving into their fighting pose. “Fifty bits.” From this start, a spirited bartering session started. Gallagher insisting she was robbing him, and Grapes saying that the repairs were probably not as strong as the original armor. Both bemoaning how the other was trying to cheat them in typical bartering histrionics. Finally it got down to the two yelling a price at each other.

“Seventy-five!” Grapes insisted.

“One-hundred!” Gallagher countered.

“Seventy-five!”

“One-hundred!”

“Seventy-five!”

“One-hundred!”

“One-hundred!”

“Seventy-five!”

“Fine fine. You drive a hard bargain, Mister Gallagher, but if you insist, I’ll pay seventy-five bits,” Grapes said finally.

“I am so glad that the bit pays so well around these here parts.” Gallagher chuckled as he jotted the final price on a clipboard. “So we’ve guaranteed that you’ll survive Phys-Ed. Let’s gather up everything else you’ll need. So what makes a… pony such as yourself want to go to a griffon school?”

“Well Princess Gail says she wants to show me off to her class.” Earshot answered as he peered up at the various helms displayed on the wall. “I agreed but only if I got to really experience her school while I’m here.”

“You… you know the princess?” Gallagher asked, a little dumbfounded. He glanced over at Garrison who made a motion that suggested a necklace. The businessgriff then looked over at Earshot and Grapes, his eyes dropping to the imperial markers worn around their necks. “Well now… at least now I know you’re not pulling my leg.”

Grapes grinned. “Lady Sour Grapes, Royal Winemaker to the Diarchary of Equestria… and apparently the First Minister of Snark, at your service, Mister Gallagher.”

“And I’m an Ambassador! Or at least that’s what everypony keeps saying I am,” Earshot clarified with a self conscious smile. “It’s a long story but it’s got lots of fun stuff.”

“Pleased to meet you then, young Ambassador.” Gallagher said with a smile. “I shall make certain that you are equipped very well to meet your first day at a griffon school.”

---------------------------------------------------------------

Stormfront moved through the crowd with a surprising grace for a pony of his stature. It probably also helped that a fair number of griffons were polite enough to not walk into him. He had been a little concerned, like many ponies he had heard stories of how confrontational griffons were and had been on his guard since he got to the bazaar but now he realised most just wanted to do their shopping and go home.

That was a sentiment he could endorse. He was painfully aware that he was a stranger in a strange land. He felt like he stood out like an orange in an apple bushel and that everyone around him was tolerating him as long as he didn’t make a scene. He then paused in thought for a moment and wondered if this was how Sirocco felt all the time.

He blinked when he realised he was thinking of his teammates and looked around seeing they were nowhere to be found.

“Aw nuts.”

He had inadvertently gotten separated from the group. He was currently a herd of one… and in a city of creatures who were half predatory animal and half ANOTHER predatory animal, that might not be such a great thing. If only he hadn’t had gotten distracted by trinkets he thought might be appropriate for Grapes. Now that they were “officially” a couple, he wanted to get her something nice. Something she would like… but portable and… well, not a book.

He knew that she would love books on most topics but that would be far too predictable… and too ‘Twilight Sparkle’. Now THAT was a mare who loved her books. There was even a joke floating around ponyville that Spike wasn’t really a dragon but a magically resurrected ancient dinosaur called the Thesaurus Rex.

Taking himself back to his problem at hand, Stormfront was unaware of where he was and didn’t know anyone around him. He started to panic when he realised that earlier, Squall had mentioned that the Central City streets were laid out like a wheel, with the palace at the middle. He felt a wave of relief when he realised that all he had to do to get back to his room at the palace was take to the air… possibly landing AT the gates before entering. Unlike the city he never saw any griffons flying directly over Palace airspace. He had a strong feeling that doing so would be… ill advised.

"And here I thought ponies were herd animals," said the familiar voice of Robin the Red-Breasted. Stormfront turned to see him next to a fruit stand, slicing off chunks of apple and popping them into his beak. “Wandering off from your tour guide and your teammates is not wise in a foreign city. Trust me on that, Stormfront.”

"Well... I got distracted," Stormfront admitted. "And now I'm in a hostile environment. I'm totally unprepared. And I'm surrounded by a bunch of guys who probably want to kick my butt... it's like being back in up-high school.”

“That’s a bit of an exaggeration. The griffonian people are not as aggressive as we once were,” Robin assured his friend as he tossed a bit to the fruit stand owner. “So what has you so ‘distracted’?”

“Sour Grapes. I think while we’re here I should get her something. Unfortunately picking out a gift for her is kinda difficult. I mean what do you get for the girl who doesn't need 'everything'."

“She IS a mare content with what life has given her, that’s for certain,” Robin observed putting a talon on Stormy’s back and leading him through the crowd. “Let’s start with keeping her from worrying about you by leading you to where she currently is.”

“You can do that?” Stormfront asked, curiously.

“Son, in my day I could track a sparrow by it’s shadow on a sunless day. Finding Grapes, Earshot and Garrison will be child’s play.”

“Wait… That’s only three.” The pegasus said, the arithmetic dawning on him. “The others also wandered off, didn’t they?”

“Oh, don’t worry about them,” the elderly griffon said in a reassuring manner. “I suspect they’ll have a series of exciting and amusing adventures on their own… or if they somehow die they’ll take a good sized chunk of the city with them. Either way, that will make for some great stories later on.”

“Are you sure about that, Robin?”

“Trust me, Stormfront my lad. I’m an old hand at this sort of thing. Certainly not MY first time to the rodeo.”

They walked through the crowd to where Garrison was leading Grapes and a great helm-wearing Earshot out of a shop. Robin smiled and waved to the small group.

“Hello there. Did you happen to lose something, Lady Grapes?”

“Oh look, you found Stormy,” Grapes said looking at Robin with a smile. "I kinda figured you'd be the first to show back up, Stormy... Though I would have gotten worried if it had taken you until after dinner time."

“Sorry to make you worry, Grapes.” Stormy said pawing the ground. “I got a little distracted.”

“Well since you’re safely reunited we can... why what have we here?” Robin commented as he approached Earshot, looking at his new, impressive headwear. “My, oh my. Guess they had to go a size up to accommodate your ears, there son. Still you look rather sharp in that. Safe too.”

“Hello, Mister Robin.” Earshot’s voice came from within the metallic shell, the acoustics making it sound hollow and deeper than normal. “It is you, isn’t it? I’m having some trouble hearing the world properly with this on. Glad I’ve been practicing looking at things with my eyes since my ears vanished that one day.”

“Your ears… vanished?” Robin looked up at Sour Grapes with an inquisitive expression.

“Ever hear of a creature called Discord?” Grapes asked.

“Ah. Say no more.” Robin said with a nod. “The previous time he was running loose he made all of my feathers vanish… Seeing as I was already a thousand years or so old at the time I can tell you that my birthday suit was in need of some ironing. Although it was nice to air out the tattoos for a bit.”

“... I did not need to know that,” Grapes uttered deadpan. “Anyway… Where should we go next?”

“I can make a few suggestions. But first we need to deal with your little nocturnal friend here. Let me just..." Robin reached out to make some small adjustments that allowed the entire facial region of Earshot’s helmet to come free revealing the colt’s astonished face beneath it. "Little known fact. Most helmets around here are modular. There isn't a griffon alive who doesn't enjoy feeling the wind on his beak."

“Wow… that is SO much better. Less reverb and everything,” Earshot said with a smile. “Thank you, Mister Robin.”

“You’re welcome, child. Now… you just ate at the palace so no need to look for an eatery.” Robin said with a smile before leaning on Garrison’s shoulder a little. “What is on the itinerary, Captain?”

“Well… sir.” Garrison began, a little uncertain how to proceed with the new presence in his little circle. “We have gotten everything on the Ambassador’s list in one shot, so we’re looking for book stores that deal in nonfiction, for Lady Sour Grapes.”

“Books it is!” Robin exclaimed. “Would you be interested in buying or borrowing? While there are lots of stores here, the book exchange is just two blocks east of here.”

“I’d rather buy them, honestly. For one I can make notes in the margins. For another, I can take them home and add them to my library for rereading,” Grapes replied. “I enjoy having books from other cultures.”

“I know just the place to start looking then.” Robin lead them through the throngs of griffons. “Part bookstore and part teashop. Very nice when all you want is some peace and quiet to sit and sip while you flip through pages.”

“I’m doing serious research for the negotiations I’m going to be engaging in later. While peace and quiet would be appreciated, I doubt a teashop-slash-bookstore would have the books on griffon economics I would need,” Grapes observed.

“You’d be surprised. Behold, my little pony...” Robin said, gesturing to a sign that hung over the door of a shop that was almost hidden between the placement of two colorful tent kiosks. It read “Dead Trees”. “A true haven for some of the most serious intellectuals and literate students in the city. Ask and they either have it… or know where to get it.”

One by one the small group ducked into the dark doorway with Sour Grapes being the last. She glanced over at the kiosk to the left and noticed an odd mask for sale. It was a little off-putting. It was a vivid blue and one could say the features were very pony-like but those features were exaggerated to almost grotesque proportions. Bulging eyes, the wideness of the smile plus the teeth were all sharp and tusk-like. She stared at it a moment before remembering just who “won” the Pony-Griffon war. Such a caricature of the pony face might be no more than a final rude gesture from a sore loser. She was just glad Earshot didn’t notice it… the mask could have frightened even HIM.

Grapes rolled her eyes, and trotted into the place, looking around curiously. Every wall was… books. Shelves covered nearly every surface, nearly every square inch of those shelves were CRAMMED with books. Were they not so well-placed she might have accused this store being the literary equivalent of Gallagher's shop. There were small tables and soft couches around, and a LOT of beanbag chairs, most of them occupied by studious griffons and some who were in black turtlenecks. She noticed the counter itself had been adorned with bookshelves in such a manner that for a moment one would have thought that IT in itself was made of books. An almost ostrich-like Griffon was behind the counter reading… it looked like Starswirl’s Treatise on Fancy Headwear and their psychological boost upon magic users. Grapes had always felt that “Haunted Haberdasheries and other Headwear” was less a serious study and more of a way for Starswirl to justify his ridiculous hat.

“Excuse me, but I’m looking for treatises on the current economic status of the Griffon Empire, please,” Grapes queried of the griffon behind the counter.

The griffon blinked and came to life, smiling as she used a feather as a bookmark and set the book down to give her full attention to the pony before her.

“Certainly, and welcome to Dead Trees, our little haven away from the closed-minded and the anti-intellectualism that is infecting our society today.” She stepped out from behind the counter and began tracing a claw along a high shelf until she found a book and absentmindedly handed it off to Grapes. “I hope you are enjoying your trip to our fair city… you’ll need ‘Gregor’s Guide to Gold Grifting’. It’s a good primer for understanding the socio-economics of our city-state culture. Hmm… maybe ‘A Brief History of the Merchant’s Guild and Their Rise to Importance’. Always a classic.”

“Considering I’m going to be negotiating with them, having some history on how they came to be would be useful,” Grapes observed. “Knowing how the person across the table thinks is always a good tool to have in one’s bag. Mind you, most merchants tend to have the same mindset, namely expecting the person negotiating with them to try and cheat them, but still it would be a good thing to know more about the illustrious guild.”

“Very smart of you. In that case I am going to also recommend the most recent issue of ‘Who’s Who and How Much?’, an excellent source of the faces you might be… well… facing.” She placed several more books into Grapes’ hooves, enough that Garrison took them from her and placed them by the till on the counter. “So what WILL you be negotiating with them? Bits for Steel? Always a demand for Griffonian steel in the world. Or maybe something more mundane like access to our historical sites?”

“I am not sure if I am at liberty to say, miss,” Grapes said with a small bow. “But it is an exchange of resources between our two countries that is required. That is all I can share for now.”

The Griffon looked at her with an expression that Grapes herself was SURE she had herself used on occasion, before the bibliophilic griffon smiled again.

“Fair enough. Just so long as our own transaction is fair. We accept books-for-books, Equestrian Bits and of course gold is always good no matter where you go.”

“Of course,” Grapes said paying bits for the books. “And thank you for your knowledge and recommendations. They are greatly appreciated.”

“That’s my Gretta. She’s always been big into books.” Robin said with a smirk. Gretta’s face suddenly lit up as she embraced him.

“Uncle Robin! When did you get here? I’m sorry I didn’t see you right away when you came in I was…”

“...Dealing with a paying customer. I know, I know.” Robin said with a smile hugging her back. “Sour Grapes, meet my great-great-whatever-removed-niece Gretta. Gretta, this is Sour Grapes, a winemaker of no small talent who provides wine to the princesses of Equestria and quite possibly one of the few ponies who could listen to you talk and add to your conversation.”

Grapes smiled and bowed a bit. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Gretta.”

“Any pony who is a friend of my ‘great-great-whatever-removed’ uncle is a friend of mine.” Gretta said bowing to Grapes. “And won’t get overcharged for tea and scones like the rest of these layabouts.”

“You love us and you know it, Gretta.” said a random griffon from somewhere at the back of the shop, making Gretta roll her eyes comically.

“Heh. You have a very nice shop, here, Miss Gretta. Now to enjoy some of your delicious tea, while I do my research. Thank you again,” Grapes said sitting down at a table with her pile.

“Right.” Gretta said with a smile before tallying up the books on the cash register and pouring her customer a fresh cup of tea. “Will the rest of your friends be needing anything, Uncle Robin?”

“We’ll need a copy of the ‘Big Book of Buckles and Bracers’. The young ambassador here will require a primer on how to put armor on properly before he goes to griffon school.”

Greta blinked at the colt before chuckling.

“Where DO you find these friends, Uncle Robin? I swear last time it was a Minotaur, this week it’s pony pegasai. What’s next week?”

“I’m not sure. Maybe I could get the Emperor himself to visit your shop?”

“If you succeed in that I’ll eat my copy of ‘Monarchs and Monsters’,” Gretta smirked at Robin before plucking a large “Children’s Book” that seemed to focus on armor and melee weapons and handing it to Earshot. “Here you go, fledgling. This should help you work out what goes where.”

“Thank you, Miss Gretta.” Earshot said with a broad grin. “I really like your store!”

“And you look rather handsome in your helmet and… and you have teeth.” Greta said with no small amount of surprise. “Uncle, I suspect that your threat of bringing the Emperor here may be more plausible right now.”

“What can I say, Gretta. I run with a strange crowd. Always have and always will.”

“If he doesn’t bring the Emperor here, I just might,” Grapes quipped with a smirk.

After counting out some bits for the tea and books she settled in to read the material at hand. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed the others do the same in their own ways. Earshot paid for his book and sat with Robin who used it as a reference on how best to don and make use of his “brand-new antique armor”, Stormfront browsed the shelves apparently looking for something he wasn’t even certain of. Garrison simply found a nice straight-backed chair by the door and accepting a cup of tea, kept watch on the group, apparently unwilling to let the few still in his charge to leave his sight.

Dead Trees was such an amazingly comfortable place to sit and read that she wasn’t even aware of the passage of time… or how much tea she had drunk. Her bladder reminded her that she should head back to the palace soon. She packed up her books and nodded to the others who all got ready to go. Thanking Gretta and promising to visit again the group left the bookstore.

Of course, Sour Grapes smiled to herself that her first day in a strange city and she had instinctively gravitated to the familiar comfort of a bookstore. She promised to herself that when the icky business of international trade was over and done with that she would try to enjoy herself. She was in an exotic far-off land and she should take full advantage of it.

Looking around she saw the various tents, stores and kiosks all closing up for the night, while a few others seemed to open for a night shift. She could tell that this city was one of those that never slept, although it might relax a little when the sun went down. They moved down the street when suddenly Captain Garrison’s wing moved in front of her, blocking her from approaching an alley. She looked up at his alert face, keen eyes peering at the opening as he drew his sword from its sheath. Robin put his one claw on her shoulder in a reassuring gesture while he motioned to her to remain quiet as Garrison approached the mouth of the alley.

“Well well well,” The Captain said with a rather evil glint in his eye. “What do we have here?”

-------------------------------------------------

Thistledown gazed about in wonderment at the streets of Central City. So many new sights, so many new sounds. He counted out the exposures available in his camera, he had been out on the streets for a couple of house so far and the last thing he wanted to do was run out at the worst time. Sometimes a lifetime could happen while you swapped out film rolls.

He paused a moment to catch a quick picture of a meal kiosk that featured roast lizard on a stick. He had to admit those lizards had such the surprised expression on their faces. With the vendor’s permission he took a picture of their culinary layout and after buying a drink from them in payment continued on his way. He might not be a carnivore but he could admire the sheer creativity and enthusiasm they had for foodstuffs.

He sipped at his drink and slowly trotted down the street just… well… drinking in the culture when suddenly everything went sideways. In a quite literal manner. He felt something or someONE seize him, jerking him into the dark and relatively quieter alley where he found himself pinned against a wall with a sickle-like blade gently grazing his throat.

“A pony?” game a gruff feminine voice from behind and to the right. “You got a pony?”

“Shut up,” said a softer but more masculine voice from directly behind him. “Okay, pony. Your money or your meat.”

“I b-beg your pardon?” Thistledown asked before he could stop himself. He heard a groan of disbelief from the female before she responded.

“We can’t make it more simple, captain color-blind.” She grunted. “Hand over your bits or we chop YOU up into bits. The bite-sized kind. Got it?”

Thistledown’s mind raced like crazy. Many thoughts surging up and down his neurons sizing up his situation. He wasn’t going to wrestle himself free easily, not with such a sharp blade at his throat. That left him having to do the one thing he always good at. Use his gift of the gab to get himself out of trouble before he lost his head.

Turning his head just enough to look backwards he could see the two griffons behind him. The first thing that struck him was that they didn’t look as bulky as the griffons he had seen in the palace. They were more slender, or rather leaner… they had a hungry look about them that suggested they hadn’t have had three meals a day in a while. Their feathers looked ragged and clumpy while their fur showed signs of matting and their clothes... well, far be it from him to be a fashion plate himself but they wore Jacobite shirts that hadn’t seen a good wash in a while. Put that together with the bags around their eyes and he came to the conclusion that these were griffons who were (as Rarity would put it) “downwardly mobile”. They had the hint of desperation around them that suggested to him that he would have to be careful. This was not a time for rash actions.

Thistledown forced his panic down into his barrel and slowly lifted his drink enough that he could take a long sip from the straw. An action of “pure calm” that bewildered the duo enough that he could get a word in edgewise.

“Is it really this bad here?” the pony said softly. “Have you two become this desperate that you have taken to being highwaymares? Ur… Highwaygriffs?”

There was a moment of confused silence before the female spoke.

“Uh, yes? YES! Yes, we are DESPERATE griffons. So don’t toy with us, pony.” She said, trying to recapture the mood that made her appear to be a threat. “We’ll give you a chance to pony up your bits… forgive the slang, or else.”

“Graspah, aren’t you laying it on a bit thick?” the male hissed back at his partner.

“Don’t use my name, Garotte!” “Graspah” squaked at the male in response. “I told you to NEVER use our names.”

“But... “ Garotte replied, “You just did.”

Yep, this was pure amateur night, and Thistledown began to feel the moment slipping away from both them and him. If he didn’t seize ahold of the reins of this situation now, he might get gutted by these two out of sheer panic. He took a deliberately loud gurgling sip from his drink, feigning it being empty and sighing.

“I don’t know about you two but, I could murder a bag of fried dough sticks. Care to join me?” Thistledown said in his most casual tone of voice, with the add-on of, “...My treat?”

What followed was a long silence, he could practically hear them looking at one another in wordless conversation. Ten minutes after this the trio sat in the alleyway, backs against the filthy stained brick wall. Thistledown had a fresh drink and a bag of fried dough sticks that he was dipping into a little paper cup filled with sea salt with each bite. Garotte and Graspah were sinking their curved beaks into their lizard on a stick and taking deep draughts of the iced teas as if they hadn’t eaten in days.

Thistledown’s eye drifted to the blade at Garotte’s belt, and while it was a stereotype that all side-saddle ponys liked “antiquing” he did recognise good craftsmareship when he saw it.

“So…” he said between bites. “I’m guessing that you two have had a rough time of it. You’re obviously desperate but I can see you’re proud too.”

“What makes you say that?” Graspah asked.

“Your associate’s knife. It looks like it would be worth quite a few bits but I’m guessing it has enough sentimental value that selling it would be like cutting your claw off.”

“Yeah.” Garotte said as he looked at his blade then at his own claw in contemplation. “Family heirloom… T’s all we got left really. Family used to be a big mover and shaker then a few bad investments and next thing we know it all came down.”

“That was a generation ago. Parents were poor up until they died and now my idiot brother and I are all we really got.” Graspah said with a grunt. “T’s life I guess. We’ve been living claw-to-beak for a while now. Wasn’t always bad though... T’s gotten worse the last year or two since food prices started going up. Now t’s everygriff for themselves.”

“And yet you two haven’t given up on each other, have you?” Thistledown said with a smile. “Blood is thicker than water, even among griffons it seems.”

“Yeah. She’s my sister. I can’t bail and sail on her. Wouldn’t be right.” Garotte admitted. Thistledown noticed the glance his sister gave him, one of sincere gratitude. “So… where do we go from here?”

“Look you two aren’t BAD as far as I can tell. Just life’s kicked you in the pinfeathers a few times,” the earth pony said, sizing up the situation. “I can tell you really don’t wanna be criminals but you feel like you’ve been painted into a corner here.”

“Well what else can we do?” Garotte said standing up and holding out his weapon. “We haven’t gone to a proper school, we’re from a fallen family. As far as society is concerned we’re just bad griffs from a bad part of town. No griff is gonna give us a chance.”

“Well, well, well,” said a voice from the mouth of the alley. “What do we have here?”

All eyes turned to see Captain Garrison standing there. Silhouetted by the red rays of the setting sun, his own gaze upon Garotte and Graspah as they stood over the seated pony, one of them brandishing a weapon in a rather threatening manner.

“If it isn’t my favorite street-crows, Garotte and Graspah. Oh… and it seems you’ve been moving up in the world haven’t you?” Garrison said slowly approaching with an evil grin. “Armed robbery is bad enough but when the some… pony you’re threatening is considered a guest of the Emperor. Well now, you know just how Chamberlain Golden Wingspan LOVES IT when somegriff gets a little too… ambitious. Am I right?”

The two griffons were trembling, eyes wide as saucers as they prepared to beg and plead for their very lives. It was then that Thistledown cleared his throat and spoke.

“Why, CAPTAIN Garrison! So good to see you again. Sorry I got lost earlier but these two young griffons offered to keep me company until you found me once more.” He slowly got to his hooves and crumpled up his now empty fried dough bag into a ball. “Mister Garotte and his sister Miss Graspah have even offered to be my personal guides to the streets of the Capital City… for a modest fee of course. They tell me they were born on the streets and thus know more about it than anygriff else.”

Garrison looked at Thistledown, an eyebrow arched as if asking “Oh really?” Thistledown merely returned a lopsided smirk and a slight tilt of his head as he shrugged as if replying “I think they deserve a break”. The Marine glanced over at the brother and sister who would gladly accept any bone tossed their way right about now.

“Tour guides. Is that so? Well then, I have to get MISTER Thistledown back to the palace right now but I expect to see you two waiting outside the front gate in the morning, all ready to take Equestria’s official Professional Tourist on his first official day of seeing the sights of our grand city.” Garrison took a moment to let that sink into Garotte and Graspah’s heads before continuing. “During this time you two will be held completely responsible for his well-being. Do I make myself perfectly clear?”

“Yes.. Yes Captain Garrison,” squawked Graspah. “Clear as glass, sir.”

“Excellent. Now that that’s been cleared up.” Thistledown said as he counted out some bits before handing them over to the duo. “Here is your advance. I’ll be seeing you two in the morning.” He dropped his voice to a quieter and far more subtle tone. “Go get a good meal or two in and clean yourselves up a little. M’kay? I mean you’re gonna be at the front gate of the palace tomorrow.”

“This… this feels like the set up to a horrible joke,” Graspah admitted in an equally low tone.

“If it is, then just enjoy getting paid for carrying the punchline,” Thistledown said before patting them on the shoulders. “See you both in the morning, bright and early. Tah tah!”

"So... Are names with a hard 'G' the usual naming convention among modern griffons?" Grapes asked casually as they made their way back to the palace. “Because I know this not-so-modern griffon named ‘Robin’, and the proliferation of g-names made me curious.”

Garrison and Robin glanced at one another resulting in both laughing at the same time.

“My dear,” Robin said with a smile. “It’s more of a social trend than anything else. Griffons go through… well... ‘naming phases’.”

“Oh yes. A few years back we had an epidemic where it seemed nearly every boy was named ‘Jason’ and every girl was named ‘Brittney’.” Garrison laughed. “My generation wound up with a big upsurge of hard ‘G’ names.”

“While mine, was big on naming children after birds.” Robin said patting his crimson-painted breastplate. “Always felt bad for General Chickenwing. Wasn’t his fault that he was born with… malformation of the wings. Still, it drove him to become the greatest ground-warfare tactician in history.”

“Ah. Fascinating. Well I’m sure we’ll find the others eventually,” Grapes said as they walked along.

The trip back to the palace was uneventful and as Robin had predicted, the missing ponies had found their way back on their own in time for dinner. The evening meal was somewhat less formal, and with only the ponies at the table to enjoy a rather simple but delicious meal of steamed rice and vegetables served with a variety of sauces on a trolley. The tasty plainness of the meal was a welcome experience for Grapes. It allowed her and the others to decompress from their day out and to discuss their plans for the next day.

Some hoped to do more exploration, Earshot was looking forwards to a full day at the Griffonian School and Grapes herself was determined to return to the bookstore for more research time. Despite being so far from home, it was wonderfully comfortable. It reminded her so much of the Golden Oaks Library. Warm, wise and welcoming. She also wondered what advice she might be able to eke from the students and intellectuals there. No doubt many of them would no doubt be willing to share their expertise (or lack thereof) with her if asked.

After dinner, Grapes retired to her room, and got ready for bed. It had been a long, interesting day, and she was looking forward to relaxing for the night. She snuggled into the comfy bed, book in hoof ready to read, relax, and drift off into dreamland. Tomorrow was another day, with other adventures, and she would be ready for them when they came.

Well… as ready as can be expected.

Comments

[Da Fennec]

Yay new chapter

[Winda]

Heh. I like 2 would be bandits. Gotta see what will happen with them.

[i_am_the_jam]

Not bad for their first day.

[Lullz]

Honestly I thought Earshot recieved a letter from Hogwarts when he was reading out his list

[SageBrony07]

Thanks for the new chapter. I loved what thistle did. I hope for the best for those two gryphons.

[Abel DuStable]

7397437

I'm curious about what's going to happen with them too.
They were kind of a last minute thing that popped up on us out of nowhere.

[Abel DuStable]

7399631

I am pleased that you caught the reference.

[i_am_the_jam]

There was an update?

[Fresnor]

7550518 There was but then it was pulled for some reason. I knew I should have read the best first and not saved it for last.

[Abel DuStable]

7552807
It's ok.
It was an accidental posting of a previous chapter.
Yes we are writing an actual next chapter but muses can be fickle and it's taking a little longer than we thought.

[zaku666]

well fuck. i caught up... wat now?

[Carnation83]

7692434 That would be so many levels of awesome I can't even!

[Abel DuStable]

7711555

Well it does makes sense, especially in a world where spontaneous musical numbers occur, that musicians would be kind of 'off-limits' in brawls and the like. After all they probably would have a list of songs and tunes that add to the wacky hijinks during a pony brawl.

[Abel DuStable]

7716758

Yeah, sorry about that.
Bit of a hazard when you write a story that sometimes you forget what was said in a previous chapter and either regurgitate it or contradict it.

[Abel DuStable]

7711555
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RdR6MN2jKYs Some places it's only good foresight to be ready for rowdy audiences.

[Vailen]

Its been a while since the last update. Is everything alright? Haven't heard from the author on their blog or here on the comments.

[The Incredible Werekitty]

8463454
Everything's alright. Just got to get the creative juices flowing.

[Vailen]

8465067
Thats a relief! Whenever I don't see an author update or leave comments its either a. they've left the fandom, b. like you said they're stumped or c. something has happened to either them or someone close to them. I always hope for b. and at worst a. but sometimes its c. and I really don't like hearing about that. Glad to see you're alright.

[The Incredible Werekitty]

8465076
Just had some health problems that kind of hindered me writing.

[Fresnor]

Reread this, and I really can't wait to see Grapes meet Luna. Then sometime afterwards she can prank her dreams making Grapes the Alicorn of Snark or something.

[The Incredible Werekitty]

8493558
LOL That would be hilarious.

[TheDerpySoupCan]

This is the first time I've seen this story is going to continue? I'll definitely read it if it does

[Abel DuStable]

8995183

Will this do?

http://www.furaffinity.net/view/17706093/

[Vailen]

How you doing, hope life's been treating you well

[Abel DuStable]

9626585
To be honest, they would have a lot in common.
Let's face it... Both species went into hiding during a crisis when their kin were threatened with extinction because of a hostile force... and in turn both were deeply transformed because of this.

[Epyrios]

Great story I would love to see it continued.

[Vailen]

I just finished re-reading this story and I'm sad that it hasn't continued. I'm hoping the author is doing alright.