Summer Days

by Nicknack

3 - Kindling Embers

If I had to pick one word to sum up the first week of being an officer, it would be “lonely.”

During training, I had always been escorted by Sherry or Captain Bulwark, and we had spent the time talking—about Guard things, true, but it was still conversation. That ended once my training was over. Despite Sherry’s promise that I’d get a partner soon, there was an odd number of patrolling guards, so I was sent out on my own.

Even the ponies seemed to ignore me—but that was an improvement over being the center of attention. Sure, there was a glance from time to time, and more than a few scowls, but for the most part, I was old news.

I ate lunches at a diner. Captain Bulwark, as part of his cultural tour of the city, mentioned how they didn’t have the greatest food in the city, but that didn’t really bother me. What did bother me was how, on Monday, the first diner I tried had an owner who, despite my armor, “didn’t serve your kind.” I had better luck at the next one I tried; the waitress there didn’t care that I had a beak, and when the place got empty, she came by and chatted with me for a while.

On top of the loneliness, being a guard was physically uncomfortable. My armor didn’t fit right, and even though I started to get used to it, I spent most of my patrols slouched forward and most of my nights with sore, aching shoulders. Besides that, my first week as a guard was the last week of May and the first week of June, so the weather was starting to get hotter. Even though Farrington was fairly northern of a city, eight hours’ worth of exertion in a tight metal suit that didn’t breathe very well had interesting effects on my hygiene...

I started taking a bath every evening, as well.

Other than the sweat problem, walking with my fingers lifted was starting to have some long-term effects on me. I couldn’t make tight fists anymore. That worried me; yes, I had a baton that I could hit criminals with, but punches and grappling were integral to griffins’ fighting style. I didn’t want to give that up, especially if I needed to fight someone.

Thursday morning, that opportunity came close: I met my first criminal. I was near where the south wall of the city met with Mount Farrington when I realized that the beige stallion who was painting a giant bowl of fruit on a shop’s wall probably wasn’t doing it with the owner’s consent. Just to make sure, I asked, “Excuse me. Do you have a permit for that?”

He threw the finishing touches on a banana, then answered, “No.”

I looked at the painting, then back at the vandal. “You... you know I have to arrest you?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “But, still, how do you like it?”

“Like what?”

“The painting.”

I didn’t know if he were stalling for time to finish, but I looked at it; given how he was doing the whole thing without fingers or magic, it looked... like a bowl of fruit. “It’s fruity,” I answered with a shrug.

With that, he walked with me back to the Citadel—willingly, so I didn’t have to tie him up. On the way there, I asked, “So, who are you?”

“Just Sum Pony,” he answered, and I seethed at Dash’s cute slang term.

Booking him was pretty easy, from an officer’s standpoint; Captain Bulwark didn’t want the officers to spend too much time off our routes. I brought the stallion into the Citadel, filled out the first three lines of a piece of paper, and gave it to Sherry. Then, she’d fill out the rest of the form, and, other than an “officer’s report” that I’d have to give when I was off-duty, I went back to my patrol.

The whole thing, from arrest to booking to getting back to the illegal painting, took less than a half hour.

Back on my patrol, I realized what Captain Bulwark meant about how my reward was mostly a big-picture deal; other than an offhanded congratulations by Sherry—who noted, “That fruitcake will be out of jail by Saturday”—no one really cared that I had made my first arrest.

All things considered, that was just part of the job.

* * *

On Friday, I received some official thanks for my efforts as a guard. When I reported to Sherry for dismissal, she held out a bag of bits for me. I looked at it for a moment, then asked, “What do I do with this?”

Sherry stared back at me and smiled, blankly. “Buy something?”

Ha-ha. I bristled, but I knew she was kidding, so I smiled back as I took the bag. Since I didn’t want to take two bags of bits home with me, I pulled out my personal coin sack and combined the two. When I was done, my coin sack was dangerously close to being completely full, and when I felt the bulk of it pressing into my chest when I strung the bag back around my neck, under my armor, I realized Sherry’s advice wasn’t exactly the worst idea.

On my way out of the city, I said goodbye to Captain Bulwark at his usual spot. He caught me checking the far side of his booth and he chuckled. “Lieutenant Starfall is back on his usual shift, and knows not to take a break during shift changes.”

“Huh,” I commented at the trivia. Still, I had come to fulfill my time-honored tradition of saying goodbye to the guard in the booth, so I added, “Anyway, I guess I’ll see you next week, sir.”

Captain Bulwark nodded. “Did Sherry give you your wages?”

I returned his nod. “Yep. I don’t know what I’m going to do with it, but it’s money.”

“You could always find something to do in Farringon.” The captain’s advice wasn’t a new idea to me, but other than shopping and mailing letters—both of which I was good on—the city felt too big for me to wander around in, looking for something to do.

I almost chuckled at the irony: part of my job was to help ponies navigate the city, but when I wanted to do something there, I probably needed a guard myself.

There’s an idea, I thought, looking at the captain. He’d gone out of his way to hire me, or at least, to give me a chance. Then, he had bought me lunch all of last week; by those meals, I could tell he knew more about Farrington. The city was like a hobby to him.

And he wasn’t half bad to talk to, either.

I pointed a finger at him. “Do you want to get dinner tonight?”

By his plate-sized eyes, I figured he wasn’t expecting that question. “Er... I don’t think that’d be... appropriate...” he stammered.

“You know this city,” I countered. “And I owe you for all the lunches last week.”

“Oh, right,” Captain Bulwark replied, nodding. “Honestly, I had forgotten about it... and that wasn’t me paying.” After a moment’s pause, he continued, “Still, I won’t decline a free meal, or a new friend.” He smiled as he said it, but the gesture seemed to stretch out the word “friend.”

“When do you get off?” I asked.

“Tonight, I am busy,” he clarified, closing his eyes and raising a hoof. “But tomorrow night, I’m free. Would tomorrow, at seven o’ clock work for you?”

I nodded and parroted, “Tomorrow at seven.” After that, we said our goodbyes, and I took off for home. Dinner plans or no, tonight, I was hungry.

The farther away from the city I flew, the more I thought about Saturday night. The food would be lame, like it always was in the city, but the captain was a near-endless source of interesting conversation.

With a shrug, I realized I was looking forward to our meal together.

---

Maxie got home from her delivery at ten fifty-six. She had finally forgiven my incompetence and hiring decisions as Captain of the Guard; at least, she had come by my gate earlier to rant about how someone wanted a package sent to Hoofington the day after the caravan left. Still, she could have taken the east gate to get on the road easier, so I appreciated her letting me know her schedule.

I made it a habit to go to bed at ten, so that I could have quiet, alone time in the mornings before I worked. Maxie was always courteous about coming home late; if I hadn’t been awake, I was certain I could’ve slept through her return. That was, if I could sleep in the first place. My room was the right level of dimness—dark, save for a small light on the floor in one corner. It usually helped me sleep, but tonight, I had too much on my mind.

I tracked Maxie’s progress through the house: quiet hooffalls down the hallway, a door closing, and running water... the bathroom. Then, she headed farther away, I heard crinkling, and then, food poured into a bowl.

With her snack in tow—or dinner, I supposed—Maxie walked down the hallway, around the bend, then stopped outside my bedroom. My doorknob turned, which made me glad I was both facing away from the doorway and not involved in anything terribly personal.

I heard a soft chuckle followed by, “Good night, sleepy-head.” She was wrong on both accounts, but I smiled as my door clicked shut. It wasn’t the first time in the past few weeks that I had caught her saying “good night” to me after a delivery, but she didn’t need to know that I was having trouble sleeping.

As Maxie walked down the hall to her own bedroom, my thoughts returned to the griffin who had kept me awake for most of the last hour.

I couldn’t even bring myself to call her by her name. I was too ashamed. I regretted how easily she had defeated my initial rejection when asking me out to dinner. Even worse, I didn’t think that she did it on purpose. Odds were good that she was just looking for a friend in the city.

That made me feel all the worse for how—and why—I was conflicted over her.

For a moment, I felt myself agreeing with Starfall, if not for his reasons, but for his stance: it had been a mistake to recruit her. I shook the thought from my head, though: I had given her a chance before I had started to look at her on a more personal level. Besides, it wouldn’t do me any good to start doubting my own convictions two weeks after the fact; the best thing to do in any case was to learn from past mistakes, not dwell on them.

Plus, I reasoned, she’s not half-bad as a guard. There had been moments, in our first week together—as guards—that I had doubted her ability to control her crass and sarcastic demeanor. But she had proven herself willing and able to work on it, and by the end of the first week, her disrespectful comments had tapered off well below levels that I would hold a pony guard to.

I can’t just fire her because of my failures, I reminded myself. I’d be lying to myself if I said my reasons for hiring her hadn’t been personal, but they had started out as doing a favor for someone down on their luck.

After her crash-landing three years ago, I had hoped that we would be able to talk about her culture and where she had come from. I still kicked myself over not getting around to it, but the past was the past. Once her wounds had healed enough, she flew south and remained an enigma.

Over the following years, she had been a curiosity; every so often, I would see her flying over the horizon. I still didn’t know how to help her, so I was forced to watch silently as she lost weight and became more and more disheveled with every visit. During Comet’s mishap, I remembered when I had seen a few griffins from the east: they were regal and elegant. It had made me sad to see one who was gaunt and withered.

I also noticed how sad she was. She hid her face’s emotions well, but even three years ago, I could see through her bully-like interactions with Maxie: she was lonely, and afraid of friendship.

Even back then, I had worried about her. I hated how her visits became less and less frequent, and she came looking thinner and rougher. When she showed up three weeks ago, she had a look of determination. Then, she visited every day for the rest of that week, except for Saturday; even though I only caught a glimpse of her as she flew around to Horatio’s gate, she looked... almost happy. Having seen that behavior before, I had feared for the worst. However, if she had made up her mind to end her life, there would have been precious little that I could have done to stop her.

The following week, when her visits abruptly stopped, had been torture. I reasoned that she rarely visited Farrington so often, and that she was probably off tending to her own griffin matters elsewhere, but I couldn’t get the fear out of my mind that she might have finally died.

Because I wasn’t there for her.

When she showed up on Wednesday evening, covered in dried blood and looking sadder than ever, it had raised more questions than it had answered: What had happened in the past four days? Whose blood was that? Why was she distraught?

Still, and despite her resolute paranoia, I made an effort to help her. I remembered how Captain Reiner had done the same for me, ten years ago, despite how I was legally homeless at the time and “a prime candidate for recruitment by organized crime.”

I shook my head. She would do well as a guard. And as much as I wished she hadn’t insisted on eating dinner with me, I had to admit I was curious to meet her in a more equal setting.

But was that all I wanted?

With a frustrated sigh, I threw off my bedsheets and walked over to the door. The clock read eleven-twenty, but sleep wasn’t coming to me that night. I had forty minutes until curfew, and a walk would clear my head. Quietly, in case Maxie were already asleep, I headed down my hallway and out the front door.

Out in the Farrington streets, I passed the houses of a few of my neighbors. There was Pepper Mint, who invited Maxie and I over for dinner from time to time; a few houses down was Axel, who still had my hedge clippers from two months back. As I got further from my home, I began to pass some of the local businesses—quick, convenient shops. Green Grocer’s produce store was always a tad more expensive than the Market District, but back when I was an officer, he had always given me a deal on “not exactly fresh” vegetables that, after boiling in a stew, were as good as anything.

Once I got out of my local neighborhood, I headed deeper into the city—which meant north—taking intersections at random. I did my best to avoid the Artisan District. That necessity bothered me, but that was a problem for another night.

I returned to my original train of thought: I knew that giving her a job was a risk, but I couldn’t keep watching her grow worse and worse. However, I couldn’t have sold that to the press or my superiors. Therefore, I had to spin the intercultural relations angle, and that had been my official motivation. It had been a lie to preserve both my dignity and hers.

It felt like such a ridiculous thing to lie about—caring for the well-being of an individual.

As much as I pitied her, I remembered how many times I had to keep from smiling at her deadpan humor during her first week. It had been hard, but it was in the public’s best interest for the guards to take themselves seriously, so I had had to put a damper on her sarcasm. Still, she found humor in a lot of situations; it was probably a coping mechanism of some sort.

I hadn’t foreseen the possibility that she and I would have so much in common.

I remembered when I first knew that I cared about her more deeply than simple pity. We had finished sharing some of our childhoods with each other at a café, and I saw her looking skyward with the same bewildered expression that I made—as Star and Sherry always told me—when I was confused in a curious manner. From then on, I knew I at least wanted to get to know her, at least as a friend.

At least. The back of my mind laughed at the notion. It was all impossible. The odds of a griffin leaving the northern kingdoms were low, and the odds of them doing so peacefully were even lower. Yet, here I was, finding myself wanting to get to know one better, and I couldn’t get the idea out of my head.

The clock tower struck the half hour; now, there were only nineteen and a half hours until my dinner with Gilda. I looked around me; by the stores, I had wandered into the Market District. The northern gate wasn’t too far away, which made me think about heading there. Even though Starfall wouldn’t be pleased to hear about my problems, he was my friend. His counsel, while blunt, usually held the wisdom of experience.

Also, it was unbearable to keep the problem to myself. I had many friends throughout Farrington, but I would trust very few with such controversial knowledge. At this hour, only Starfall or Sherry would be awake, and I didn’t want to go to her for dating advice. Things had gotten odd between us after Lieutenant Spade’s murder, especially considering how I was the youngest captain in Farrington history and how she was old enough to have worked with my father—thirty years ago, when he was Manehattan Police and she had been Stalliongrad Politsiya.

I put the past behind me and grounded myself in the present, speeding up on my route to Starfall.

When I got to his station, rather than announcing my presence, I decided to try my hooves at his usual method of leaning on the side wall. It wasn’t difficult to leap up, but I didn’t have wings to stop myself, so I ended up hitting the side of his station fairly hard.

Inside, Starfall swore. “You have about a ten-second head start while I get outside, and that’s the only mercy you’ll—” His head poked around the lip of the window. He looked at me, confused, then he looked down to my flank. “Iron. Probably the last stallion I would expect to see this late.”

I forgot my problems for a moment as I joked, “Do you see what I mean about how uncomfortable it is to stand like that?”

His head slid back around the corner. “Why do the desktops jut out so far?” he asked in agreement. I grunted to show that I didn’t know. After a moment’s silence, Starfall continued, “So, what’s on your mind, kid?”

I smiled at my nickname. I had hated it at first, but over the years, I grew to like it. My smile left as I thought about the best way to bring up my problems and not offend Starfall’s sensibilities. He had cooled off in the past few weeks, especially after her oath ceremony, but I also understood what griffins had done to his wife.

“Remember Sherry and Lieutenant Spade?” I asked. I figured there’d be an easier path from that topic to my own, at the very least.

“Sherry and Malt!” Starfall replied nostalgically. “Talk about opposites attracting. They couldn’t be any more different in... everything,” he commented. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a pair love each other like those two.”

What about you and Comet? I barely bit back the words. I knew why Starfall voluntarily chose the night lieutenant’s shift, and the reasons weren’t happy. That just led to an overly long silence, which Starfall picked up on.

He prompted me, “But yeah, midnight’s a bit late to think about ancient history, huh?”

“I suppose it is. Still, Red Hooves is out there, and I have no idea how he knew exactly where to find Officer Gilda in only the second hour of her training.” I was sidetracking myself, but at the same time, that had been a disturbing occurrence.

My friend laughed, darkly, from inside his guard station. “Is that why you’re awake? Worried about Red Hooves’ information network? Or are you worried about the Sharptalon, and how I’m right, and how eventually, she’s going to freak out and leave behind a body count?”

“No,” I answered, raising an eyebrow at his nickname for Gilda. It didn’t seem offensive, at least not how he said it. “Well, okay, yes, actually,” I admitted. “But she takes her Guard work seriously, and the fruit vandal didn’t have so much as a scratch on him.”

“Ooh, the fruit vandal,” Starfall mocked heavily. “No offense, Iron, but wait until she gets a perpetrator that resists arrest before you use them as proof she’s not violent.”

“You’re violent,” I countered, and for the first time on the subject, Starfall only made a grunt of agreement. After a moment, I continued, “Anyway, Guard business aside, tonight, I have problems of a more... personal nature.” Starfall was my friend, but my personal issues were always embarrassing to talk about.

My entire indirect approach wasn’t lost on him. “Well,” he began, “I’ve got five more minutes on my shift, so at the rate you’ve been going, I think we’ll have an answer for your problem by September.”

“Right, right,” I agreed. “But this conversation stays between us, understood?”

“I won’t tell anyone,” he promised. “Hell, who could I tell that you don’t have some sort of dirt on me with, anyway?”

Even though he couldn’t see me, I nodded at the truth. Then, I took a deep breath and asked, “What’s the term when you know enough about romance to know you don’t love someone, but still, you want to start dating them to find out?”

“Schoolfilly’s crush?” Starfall offered, amused.

“Funny. Ass,” I replied, notably less amused.

The ass chuckled, “I’m sorry, Iron, but for all your dressing it up in seriousness and fancy words, that’s exactly who you sound like right now.”

I said nothing, but I let my mouth hang open. His insult was more surprising than it was offensive.

Sure enough, he didn’t need to see me in order to pick up on how I had taken his comment. “Sorry, kid,” he apologized. “Still, you sound just like Hailey the other day.” His voice went into a falsetto as he mimicked his daughter, “‘What’s it called when you like somepony more than just friends?’”

I had to crack a grin at that. Starfall was Hell itself to criminals and a stone wall to his wife, but the love he felt for his children was almost tangible. Plus, they were an adorable pair of pegasi. They called me “Uncle Iron.”

I looked down and shook my head as my mood soured. “Well, it’s good to know that I at least have the romantic experience of an eight-year-old.”

“Hey, you got dealt a raw hoof, Iron,” Starfall consoled. “No one should have to raise a daughter at age thirteen. Now Max can fend for herself, though, you’re a bit behind in the game is all,” he finished.

It was strange to hear him refer to my sister as a “daughter,” but when I thought about it, it made sense; I had raised her through our teenage years, and I was her legal guardian.

“So,” he continued, “what’s his or her name?”

“His?” I deadpanned.

“Hey, ten years and this is the first time I’m hearing of you being romantically interested in someone. I don’t know what sort of kinks you’re into,” he replied.

“Or even what species,” I mumbled. The hour was growing late, and Starfall’s jokes about me being indirect about my problems were growing more awkward than the confession itself.

Starfall was silent for a few moments as he made the connection. When he spoke, it was with a tone of disgust: “You’re... you’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Most of me wishes I were,” I said sadly but honestly. I could control my actions, but if my mind’s rebellion had taught me anything, it was that my desires for company were not of my own making. “But part of me isn’t.”

About ten seconds later, the doorway set into the wall of the south gate slammed open, and Starfall stepped out with murder in his eyes. I was surprised that he had left his post, but we were both in the archway, so it wasn’t unguarded. Either way, I pushed off the wall so I could stand on all fours again.

“So ignore that part of you.” He pointed a hoof at me. “Are you incredibly stupid or just mildly insane?” He shouting the last word, and I actually heard it echo out into the quiet streets. He also heard, because he continued in a harsh whisper, “The only reason I didn’t go straight to city council over you hiring that... thing... is because you told me that it was a professional decision; that you thought she’d make a good guard!”

“I wasn’t lying about that!” I said, feeling my anger rising at his accusation.

Starfall threw my anger right back at me. “You weren’t? Because you know what it looks like from my point of view? Three years of, ‘Oh, that griffin came by. She’s sad today,’ like I’m supposed to care, and then the first chance you get to speak to her, you hire her onto the guards? What other motives would you have to keep her around?”

“My motives for wanting to help her were separate from my judgment to hire her!” I hissed back at him. “It’s just that now I’ve gotten to know her—”

“I mean, if you want to go screw a wild animal, by all means, your free time is your own; just save the taxpayers the expense of courtship and go find some in the wild! Or hell, there are dogs in the mines, why not find one of them to f—”

My punch took both of us by surprise, but it only whipped Starfall’s head to the side. After a hard blink, he turned his head back to me. His glare was ice, but I stood my ground; any sign of weakness would only start a fight. So we just stood there, breathing at each other.

Finally, his gaze softened. “Too far. Sorry...” He shook his head. “But what the hell made you think it was a good idea to come to me for advice over this?”

“There isn’t anyone else awake at this hour.” I raised an eyebrow and shrugged. “At least, not anyone I trust with this.”

Starfall let out a mirthless chuckle. “I was going to say, I saw your sister coming back when I was on break earlier.”

I rolled my eyes, “Yeah, I don’t feel like having Maxie running around telling everyone in the city about ‘my brother the sex fiend.’”

Starfall hid a laugh in a fake sneeze, which I appreciated. But after he brought his gaze back up, he sighed and shook his head. “I’m sorry, kid. But I can’t offer much help here. You start dating the Sharptalon, it’s only going to end in trouble. Either from her, the rest of the guards, the press... hell, even Maxie.”

“What about from friends?” I asked sadly.

Starfall gave me a comforting look. “I... I hate it. So much,” he added through clenched teeth. “But I won’t take it personally, I guess.” He shrugged.

I was slightly disappointed, but at the same time, I realized how personally Star might have taken it. Before I could say anything else, the bell tower struck midnight, and the north gate’s gears started turning as it closed for the evening. Both Starfall and I looked up to watch the doors close, then we looked back at one another. “So, does that help you, at least?” he asked, returning to the matter before us.

“Slightly,” I sighed. Then I turned to head south.

Starfall huffed a sigh before he caught up with me. “I’ll be blunt with you, then. It will end disastrously. And even blunter: I don’t think you even care specifically about her.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked, more curious than offended.

He took a deep breath and continued, “Your sister’s been self-sufficient for the past three years, and if we’re being honest, she hasn’t needed your full attention since before you made sergeant. So, eight years, and you’ve had time to find romance in Farrington, is all I’m saying. And you have: you love this city, and your job. The problem with that is that you see every filly in this city as some sort of daughter, or at least, extended family.”

He stopped walking for a moment, and so did I, but I couldn’t think of a rebuttal before he continued speaking. “So basically, the first new female who shows up, you’re interested in her. Even better, she’s from a different culture, so she’s mysterious,” he said, flaring his wings and stretching out the word as he gestured off into the distance. “I know how you are with restaurants, businesses... everything new in this city. Hell, even your ‘cooking.’ You enjoy satisfying your curiosities. And that’s all this is.”

I ignored the jibe at my hobby and asked, “How can I tell if it is just that? What if it’s something deeper?”

A puzzled look came over Starfall’s face. He chuckled and shook his head, admitting, “I... I guess you’ll have to date her and find out.”

There was the advice I was looking for. However, Starfall continued, “Just... goddesses save me, Iron, don’t come to me for any... physical advice.”

I coughed, slightly shocked that his train of thought had escalated so quickly, but then I realized he was setting limits for his sake. “Don’t worry,” I offered. “I’m sure Maxie had a good enough look to inform both of us.”

Starfall’s burst of laughter made me feel slightly guilty; I didn’t like making jokes at my sister’s expense. But humor was one way to get Starfall to better accept the possibility of me dating Gilda, so it was for the best.

When it came time for us to part ways, he finally offered a smile, and I rapped his pauldron with a hoof.

As I walked back to my house, my mind still raced with possibilities and worries about Gilda. However, and despite the mildly violent outcome, my conversation with Starfall had put part of my mind at ease. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about what I was feeling, but knowing there was only one way to find out filled me with a sense of calm.

By the time I got home, I was exhausted from the night. As soon as I was back in bed, I fell asleep within minutes.

---

I spent most of Saturday feeling like my cave wasn’t my cave anymore. The more I thought about it, the more that Equestrian society was taking over: first the clock, then the armor, and now, a virtually endless supply of brass bits. It made me feel less like a griffin, and I didn’t like that one bit.

Though, maybe that had to do with the dream I had the night before; it was the one where my family just sat around, eating, and joking in the ponies’ language. That dream bugged me, because it was so close to a fond memory of home that I could hang on to. But the language killed it, and it just made me think that my subconscious was becoming less griffin-like.

A little before six o’ clock, my alarm clock broke my train of thought. It was time to go to Farrington, and the captain. I thought about blowing him off, but that felt too much like breaking a promise. With a sigh, I picked up my coin sack, noting the irony of how my griffin-oriented sense of honor was driving me to visit a city that, more than anything, was causing me to lose my cultural identity.

As I turned to leave, I contemplated destroying that stupid, cutesy clock. I could easily afford a new one. I decided against it, though; it did work well as a clock. It didn’t feel right breaking something just because I didn’t like how it looked.

During my flight, I relished the freedom of flying without my armor; I almost wished Dash were there to see some of my loops and spins. Even with all of my rolling around, I arrived at Farrington almost twenty minutes early. That impressed me; when I came for my shift, the trip usually took close to an hour. I knew it would be faster to fly without the armor, but I didn’t know I’d cut off that much flight time.

Regardless of my efficiency, I landed and sat down beneath the south gate to wait for the captain. Ten minutes later, a gray stallion showed up. Guard training kicked in, and I started taking down finer details: golden shield cutie mark, pale blue eyes. His mane and tail were cut extremely close to his fur line; he wasn’t bald, but he definitely looked different than a lot of other ponies. I tried to remember who his mane reminded me of, but after a few minutes of trying to guess, I gave up.

The short-cut stallion sat down on the opposite side of the archway from me, but he didn’t say anything, so I left him alone at first. After a few minutes, I figured I’d make conversation to pass the time. “You waiting for someone too?”

“Just for them to recognize me,” Captain Bulwark answered with a grin.

My eyes widened when I realized who he was; every time over the past three years, he had always been wearing his ornate, golden armor.

I looked again at what was left of his mane and tail. They were brown, not the dark black of the fake hair that adorned his armor’s head and flank. Captain Bulwark noticed my gaze, so he defended himself, “It’s not the most stylish way to wear a mane, but it’s easier to fit in a helmet.”

It clicked: Lieutenant Starfall’s mane-cut was almost the exact same, except that he had a raised stripe in the middle; the captain’s mane was the same length all over his head. “I didn’t mean to stare, sir. I’ve just never seen you without your armor.”

He nodded and grinned. “Fair enough.” His eyes darted off to the side before he added “And, uh, you don’t have to call me ‘sir.’ We’re off-duty now.”

I stared at him, blankly. I knew his name, but I didn’t want to start calling him by it without his say-so.

He picked up on my dilemma. “Call me Iron, Gilda. Just not while we’re on-duty.”

I nodded, guessing, “That’s just your elders who get to do that?”

He tapped his nose with his hoof. I didn’t know what that meant. “How do you know that Sherry was in the Guard before me?”

“Are you kidding?” I raised an eyebrow. “She’s like twenty years older than you.”

Iron laughed at that. “A bit older than that, actually, but don’t tell her I told you that.”

I made the zipping motion across my beak that Sherry made when she didn’t want to say something. Then, I broke the gesture by asking, “So, where do you want to eat?”

“How much of your wages do you have left, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“You know me, always spending money as soon as I get it,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

He chuckled. “So, the whole of it?” I nodded. “I know a place that’s a little pricey, but it’s perhaps one of the best values in the city.”

“Lead the way,” I accepted. A few feet into our trek, I defended my spending habits, “I spend some money. Letters are expensive.”

“Right. Last Saturday. I remember hearing something about that,” Iron said with... sarcasm. I heard sarcasm, and I grinned.

“Really?” I asked. “Does your sister come to you every time I send out a letter now?”

“Now? No. She complained the first time you sent a letter. ‘Rah, rah, rah, she’s using all the special addressing ink,’ that sort of thing,” he said. Despite being half a foot taller than her and being a different gender, he had almost perfectly mimicked his sister’s voice. I started cracking up, but quickly lost the fight to keep from laughing. “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued, “I love my sister, but when it comes to you writing letters at the post office... I could only have less concern if I made a conscious effort to.”

“Ah, siblings,” I mused, still chuckling.

“Do you have any sisters or brothers?” he asked.

“Sixteen and an egg, last I heard,” I answered.

Iron looked at me slyly for a few seconds before his expression widened. “Seven... wait, eighteen children? Is that... normal, for griffins?” he added sheepishly.

“No,” I answered flatly.

He didn’t say anything in reply. Our walk took us past a few more buildings to one with a fancy-looking sign over the door. Iron stopped. “I don’t need to remind you, Gilda, but please be polite to the waiters here. This is a favorite restaurant of mine, and I’d like to be able to come here again after tonight,” he warned softly.

“So wait until after dinner to break out my juggling act. Got it,” I joked.

“You juggle?”

“No.”

Iron chuckled and went up to the door. Opening it, he bid me to enter with a bow.

Inside, the restaurant was dimly lit. There was soft carpeting on the floor, which was a nice change from the stone streets. I heard a fountain gurgling to my left but also... soft music.

In pony culture, music was a lot more common, to the point of being vulgar. It had first been forced upon me during my summer at Junior Speedsters’, and it had just been noise. Some of the counselors had tried to get everyone to sing, and despite all the punishments—and even Dash’s encouragement—I refused to join in.

I couldn’t.

For griffins, singing was a deep, wordless baring of one’s soul to another. When one griffin sang to another, it was usually something like saying a last goodbye at a funeral, or pledging an oath of undying love to a partner.

However, the pony music I heard now was pleasant, almost soothing. It really reminded me of the few times I had heard a griffin song, and that sent chills down my spine.

I wanted to keep listening to the music, but Iron walked up beside me, and I didn’t want to make a thing about it. We walked up to a very well-groomed stallion who greeted us, “Captain Bulwark...” He turned to me and added, “And guest.”

“Good evening, Pierre,” Iron answered, “Do you have a table for two?”

“Right this way.” Pierre the pony led us deeper into the restaurant. As we walked, I ignored the wayward glances that came from the tables; I looked around trying to lock in on the source of the music. I found it on a small stage in the back, where a quartet of musicians was playing.

Iron and I sat down at our table, but I kept watching and listening to the musicians. I picked out the part of the song that I liked best and tried to match it with the performer. I found her when part of the song sped up: she was a gray mare, wearing a little bow tie, and drawing a sharp-looking stick across a sort of tall, stringed instrument. The sound it made was deep and sad, but still, it was beautiful.

I turned back to Iron, who was staring at the floor near my butt. I looked: my tail was unconsciously curling and hitting the ground in unison with the gray mare’s rhythm. As soon as Iron saw me looking, he gave me an embarrassed, “Sorry.”

“It’s a tail,” I said, slightly annoyed. I curled it under my leg and sat on it.

“I meant no offense,” he replied, “I was just... intrigued.”

“About...?”

“My tail doesn’t curl like that,” he offered with a shrug.

I remembered how short he cut the hair on his. “You don’t have a tail.”

He laughed at that, and I figured he hadn’t meant anything by staring at me other than dumb curiosity, so I dropped the issue. The waiter came by and took our orders for drinks; I got water, Iron requested some foreign-sounding thing with a number attached to the end.

When we were alone again, Iron picked up the conversation. “So, you’re fond of the music?”

“It’s not bad,” I replied. “It remind me of the two times I heard someone singing, growing up.”

“And what do griffins sing about?” he prompted.

I looked back at the gray mare. “Ourselves,” I answered, then I turned back to face Iron. “Like, not about what we do, but who we are. But it’s not really common. Like I said, I’ve only ever heard two griffins do it.”

Iron nodded thoughtfully. “Who were they?”

“One of them was an old, old widow. Her husband of almost eighty years died. They were sort of a pillar of the community, or at least, everyone knew who they were. I mean everyone. Members from all three tribes showed up to that funeral.” I left out the part where the nine visiting Sterkergeist had counted for that entire tribe.

“Anyway,” I continued, “she sang a eulogy. She loved him for eighty years, but in something that probably only lasted for half a minute, everyone there knew the exact depth and extent of her feelings toward him and the emptiness she felt over losing him.”

After my story, our drinks came. Then, it was time for food orders. Iron already knew what he wanted, so I scanned the menu for the cheapest salad. Bit surplus or no, I wasn’t going to to pay for something that I didn’t enjoy.

When the waiter left, Iron asked, “Who was the second?”

“Huh?” I asked. I had only seen the one waiter.

“You mentioned hearing two songs. One was from a widow, who sang the other?” he clarified.

I shook my head, “I swore I would never tell anyone. Sorry, that means you too.”

Iron’s eyes widened, but he nodded. “I understand.” Then, we sat in awkward silence until our waiter finally came with our orders. After he gave us our food, Iron changed the subject, “So, how was your first week alone on the job?”

“Not the worst week I’ve ever had,” I replied quickly, glad to be on a less personal subject. “Some ponies are nice, some are rude. The streets suck, and the armor’s hot.” I shrugged.

“You seemed to have persevered,” he pointed out.

I nodded back. “There’s a lot more to learn, like routes and stuff, but it’s not as bad as I first thought.”

Iron raised an eyebrow. “If there’s still something about the job you’d like to know, feel free to ask.”

Instead of answering right away, I ate some of my salad. It was as flavorful as it was filling. Finally, I repeated a question that been bothering me since two weeks ago, the first time it had gone unanswered: “Why does Starfall hate me?”

Iron had been mid-gulp, and the drink caught in his throat. After a wet, choking sound, he looked warily at me and rasped, “I’m not sure if I should be the one to tell you.”

I raised an eyebrow in response, “Do you think I’d get a straight answer from him if I asked?”

I listened to the music and Iron chewed for almost a full minute while he thought it over. Finally, he cleared his throat again. “No. He’s my best friend, but his passion overcomes his reason sometimes, this being one such occasion.” After a much shorter pause, he added, “A while ago, his wife was attacked by griffins. He still hasn’t gotten over it.”

I hissed quietly in amazement: that was a brutal way to die. But still, my gut reaction was that it was her own fault: she must have entered into our territory. After the Schnelfluge were exterminated for it, we stopped attacking ponies outside of our own borders. That didn’t seem to be the right thing to say at the moment, though, so I used some salad to stop my beak from talking.

As I chewed, I felt annoyed by Starfall: tragedy or no, it wasn’t right for him to hold every griffin responsible. And with how much I hated my tribe’s brutal xenophobia, I found it ironic that I was the outlet for his prejudices.

Speaking of prejudices, I remembered something about Iron. “So, what about you?”

Iron raised an eyebrow, confused. “Er, what do you mean?”

“I thought about it,” I answered. “You helped me a lot this month. Or at least, with hiring me, you went out on a limb for me without really knowing me. Three weeks ago, you said it was ‘a test,’ and that you wouldn’t tell me exactly why you hired me. Then you said it was for intercultural relations, but I don’t buy that, not after I told you that it wouldn’t work.”

He smiled, but only responded, “That wasn’t really a question.”

I glared back, slightly. “Okay then. I’m asking again, ‘why’d you hire me?’ If it’s a test, don’t you think I’ve passed by now?”

Iron looked at me sadly for a moment, then slowly nodded. “You have, I suppose.” After a moment, he continued, “I can’t imagine what living in exile was like for you, but if I can be blunt, the years were not kind to you.”

“Thanks,” I scoffed, looking away.

“I meant no offense,” he apologized, and I focused one eye on him. “It’s just... even back then, I didn’t hold any delusions about our races. Yes, I’d like everyone to get along, but at the same time, it’d be stupid to go around trusting someone who may or may not have a history of violence.”

“A history of violence?” I remembered the phrase, but I still wasn’t sure whether or not I should be offended.

“Three years ago, when you arrived in Farrington, you were nearly dead from injuries. I had no idea who or what they were from; I guessed that you lost some sort of a fight. That sort of violence... has its time and place, in the Guard. But it should only be a last resort.” Iron shrugged and finished, “But finally, I looked past that, and decided to give you a chance. For your sake.”

I thought it over; then it dawned on me. “So you only hired me out of pity?” I accused.

He smiled at me, but he seemed disappointed as he retorted, “Come on, Gilda. You’re smarter than that. ‘Pity,’ if you’re going with a word with such negative associations, was what made me look for ways to help you. If you want to know why I decided to give you a chance...” He paused. “It’s because, ten years ago, someone gave me that same exact chance.”

I nodded that over to myself for a moment, and before I could reply, the waiter came by to take our plates. He asked if we’d like dessert, so Iron looked at me like he wanted my opinion. “I’m good, but go for it if you want.” He ordered a slice of carrot cake.

When the waiter left, I finally had a response for Iron, “I don’t mean to question your motives. It’s just... I’ve been on my own for most of my life, even when I lived with my family. I’m not used to anyone doing favors for me, let alone risking anything on me.”

“Well...” He smiled. “That’s their loss. I took a chance on you, and you came through with flying colors.”

My face grew hot at the compliment. “Thank you,” I said, trying to put the full weight of my gratitude into the words.

After Iron ate his cake, the waiter brought us a small black envelope: the bill. Iron made a motion for it, but I picked it up before he could. I had offered to pay, I held myself to that word. The bill was sixty-two bits. I can’t do that every night, I told myself.

I asked Iron where to pay, and he showed me how there was a small pouch inside the envelope. I pulled out my coin sack and counted the bits as quickly and quietly as I could. When I finished, Iron cleared his throat, “Uh, Gilda... it’s customary to leave a tip for the service.”

“Tip?” I asked. I knew two meanings for that word, but none of them related to the situation at hand.

“A little extra money, like fifteen bits or so. For the waiter,” he clarified.

I raised an eyebrow. “He doesn’t get paid by the restaurant?”

Iron chuckled, shaking his head, “It’s considered polite. Like saying thank you.”

I could just thank him, I thought, but I realized I was defending the stance of not getting rid of my bits. I shrugged, and added fifteen more coins to the bill’s pouch.

After we paid, Iron and I walked outside. There was barely any daylight left; far away, down the street, I saw a unicorn slowly making his way towards us, lighting streetlamps along the way. “Well, that was dinner,” I said inanely, hoping that Iron would pick up the last bit of conversation for the night.

“Indeed it was,” he mused. After a short pause, he added, “I had a good time.”

“Me too,” I admitted, “even though we only talked about sad stuff.”

Iron laughed at that. “I was talking more about the company, not the subject matter. You listen when others talk; that’s a rare quality to find in someone.”

I stared blankly at him. “How else do conversations work?”

“How indeed?” he mused. After a moment, he asked, “Would you be against doing something like this again?”

“Dinner again?” I asked.

Iron nodded. “Farrington is a large city. There are many different venues to enjoy, but I could show you around if you’d like.”

I thought it over for a while; it had been entertaining to talk with him for... over an hour, I realized. “I guess, but I can’t keep paying for both of us,” I finished.

He shook his head and smiled back at me, “You won’t have to.”

“Okay, then,” I agreed.

“Does next Tuesday work for you?”

“Tuesday’s fine,” I agreed. Looking up at the sky, I realized it was getting late. “I need to get going, though. I don’t want to get the wrong cave and end up fighting a manticore again.”

Iron laughed again, but when he saw I was serious, a shocked look came over his face. Still, he recognized that time was of the essence, so he bid me, “Good night, Gilda. And... be safe, I guess.”

“Good night,” I returned before heading down the street and towards the south gate of Farrington.

From behind me, Iron whispered, “Manticores?”

My trip back home was quiet, and I found my cave’s mountain’s peak easily enough. Before I made the final ascent, I scanned the forest for movement, hoping to see a good meal. I didn’t find any, so I decided to go to sleep before the now-growing emptiness from not eating would be enough to keep me awake.

Hunger or no, that night, for the first time in a while, I didn’t have any bad dreams.

Comments

[Y1]

Romance you say? Interesting. Of course, I expect it to all go terribly wrong, and if it doesn't I'll be sorely disappointed.

[Ezn]

“Just Sum Pony,” he answered, and I seethed at Dash’s cute slang term.

Hey Demetrius.

[Racheakt]

First? Hm. Shame, deserves more.

The sonsg for this chapter are:

---Opening to Iron's first scene---

'Gymnopedie No.1' by Erik Satie

Long gaurd shifts and tranquil streets, a new life adjusting, old scars aching, but no longer bleeding. A strange king of homesickness.

---Iron remembers the griffon slowly dying from a sickness called 'alone'---

'Lullaby for Grown Ups' - Ane Brun

Go to sleep
With closed eyes
Your prophecies
Won’t be fulfilled tonight

---From the talk with Starfall to the end---

'Yesterday Was Hard On All Of Us' by Fink

Where do we go from here? Cause if it's the same as yesterday, you know I'm out, just so you know, Because, because... our paths they cross, Yesterday was hard on all of us, on all of us.

[CommanderCupcake]

Four chapters at once? Someone kicked of the training wheels. Damn!

[Father Figure]

Woah, bunch of chapters on a day I probably won't be able to read them! So excited

[Forevermore]

Aw, Iron and Gilda make a cute couple. Though it would seem that Gilda is unaware that she is kinda-sorta-not-really dating a pony.

[Swiftest]

I smiled at my nickname. I had hated it at first, but over the years, I grew to like it. My smile left as I thought about the best way to bring up my problems and not offend Starfall’s sensibilities.

I could have sworn this was practically said word for word in the previous chapter.

I found her when part of the song sped up: she was a gray mare, wearing a little bow tie, and drawing a sharp-looking stick across a sort of tall, stringed instrument. The sound it made was deep and sad, but still, it was beautiful.

OCTAVIA!!!

You helped me a lot this month. Or at least, with hiring me, you went out on a limb for me without really knowing me. Three weeks ago, you said it was ‘a test,’ and that you wouldn’t tell me exactly why you hired me. Then you said it was for intercultural relations, but I don’t buy that, not after I told you that it wouldn’t work.

Didn't they already go over this in the last chapter of the prequel? And it might just be me, but for some reason, I feel he may have "answered" why he hired her already.

Anyway, this chapter does seem to compress a lot of past chapters together, almost to the point where I'm getting the dangerous sense that you might be rushing (pacing issue). You're not quite in the bad area yet, in fact the pacing is fine here, but be wary of that when compressing.

Also, will the second song that Gilda heard be brought up again? Or is that part of your omission?

[JL-Hero]

1984486
be prepare then.

Even at this point I still don't understand Iron's interest in Gilda, I mean he feels great empathy for her, but still that doesn't explains his "deeper" care

[Gyro Pony]

Today I've been stuck in bed, sick.
Out of all the things I could do with my iphone, bring up this story to read is the best thing I can think of using it for.
Reading some (good) fics are like watching a good movie. This is one of those fics.
Now if I can just clean off the mucus I sneezed all over my screen, I will read the next chapter. Or maybe try sleeping.....
Good story sir!

[Alondro]

>>>“When do you get off?” I asked.>>

"Usually at some point during sex," he replied with a full-on trollface.

It was about that time that I realized his mane had suddenly turned various pastel shades and was waving in a non-existant breeze.

"DAMN YOU TROLLESTIA!!" I cried in rage as the troll princess skipped away laughing.

[LordBucket]

I like Gilda. And I realize this story is already finished so I'm going to get to find out soon enough...but I really hope this situations works out pleasantly for everyone involved.

[Minitheif]

15 Bit tip on a 62 Bit bill? That's nearly 25%! Most waiters wish they could get that much!

[TrevorLaneRay]

2422273
Methinks this was intentional by Iron, telling her that a tip was ~15 bits.
Purpose being to improve her image in the public eye?
Like, she gives big tips.

[brobro42012]

2767883
Prejudice's will essentially go down, but just tipping extra won't make everyone(/pony) accept you

[Mocha Star]

Good date is good!