Making Headway
Someone, somewhere, was scratching at something.
It woke Flotsam up. It was a gradual process; a snort here, a flicked ear there. He huffed and was dimly aware of the smell: resinous and sharp. It seemed to scare away the oxygen. His mouth was dry and full of bad-tasting bits of sawdust, made pasty by the moisture they’d stolen. Wood chips burrowed into his tatty mane, and more dusted his body. The low, grating noise persisted erratically.
Blinking, disquieted and displeased, he writhed himself free of the mess. He shifted and chunks of wood bit into him. Some were quite large. There was a squeak-squeak-squeak of breaking wood; there was a sharp crack, then a piece the size of his hoof plopped down on him.
Flotsam wiped the dusty grit from his eyes. He pushed the piece of torn wood aside. He blew a resolute snort, clearing some of the crowds gathered in his nose. Propping up his hoof, he was about to sit up.
He saw the griffon. Her slatey head was poking through the wall directly above his belly, mad-bird eyes glancing this way and that.
The griffon looked down and saw him. They met eyes.
“You!”
“You!”
They shared a moment.
The moment exploded.
“AHHHHH!?” Flotsam inquired.
“AHHHHH!?” She suggested.
They thrashed. One would think that, even on his back, with all four limbs plus a head-jabby at his disposal, Flotsam would be the better thrash-ee and that Gadfly, with naught but her head in the game – so to speak – would be woefully underrepresented in this contest.
It would be a fair assumption.
It would be wrong. The razor-sharp beak and powerful neck both helped, but the leading role had to be the inherent pinprick-pupil insanity that all birds are known for.
Even the cute ones. Especially the cute ones.
Her stubby black tongue flailed like a lightening-struck snake. Her uvula (do griffons even have those?) wobbled like a very wobbly thing indeed.
“AHHHHHH?!” They each continued to postulate. Flotsam’s startled struggles slapped against the walls and floors; Patches’ box of assorted goodies was overturned and scattered, the sleeping area – already a mess of wood wreckage – was quickly being pulverized.
Gadfly’s slatey-grey beak, having somehow snatched the formerly emptied and presently flying tin of diced fruit, whipped it about, tossed her head and flung the tin at Flotsam’s.
It struck true with a hollow doink!. “Ow!”
“AHHHHHhhh-wait, wait, I, I think I’m stuck?!” She tossed side to side like a struggling fish, and, going by the thunder reverberating through the wall, was unleashing all sorts of slash, stab, punch and kick havoc against the other side in her bids to break free. “I can’t move?! Get me out!”
Flotsam’s heart was in his throat, but not literally as that would be horrifying to comprehend and excessively fatal. His chest heaving and already sweaty, he kept low on his back as he manouvered away, very mindful of his soft fleshy everywhere and her sharp fish-hook beak just above all that. “What?!
Her eyes bulged and neck feathers piled up with a spirited and very definite struggle to pull out. “I’m stuck?!”
Flotsam scooched best he could out from under her biting reach. His coursing adrenaline rattled around, quickly starting to shift tone from ‘I need to fight!’ to: ‘somebody needs help!’ He still wasn’t thinking all that much, though.
It’s a hero thing.
He propped himself upright against the far wall – there wasn’t quite room to stand up and avoid a nasty potential snap of the beak – and heaved a breath of reprieve. “Okay! Stop, stop,” he roared and it made his throat was raw, “STOP!”
She stopped.
He thrust up an excitement-and-stress wobbling hoof, pointing it dead at the griffon's head. He said the first thing that came into his head. “How are you stuck?
Gadfly blinked rapidly. As these things went, it was a considerable step down from ‘spittle-spattering-berzerker’ towards a considerably more genteel ‘immensely excited.’ “I don’t know?! I tried climbing through?”
There was something about the way she spoke in questions that gently curdled the brain. Her eyes, at last, came to settle on him after their mad roving. She asked, “Why are you even here? I thought it was just, storage and stuff? I mean, it is?"
An entirely misplaced pang of work ethic guilt shot through him Flotsam, one he really didn’t need in his life just now. “That doesn’t matter! Why did you try climbing through a hole in the wall-”
“To escape!”
“It barely fits your head! No wonder you're stuck!”
Two angry, heated, flustered souls glowered at one another. It was another one of those pesky moments.
“What’s wrong with your horn?”
“It’s magic! I don’t have to explain anything!” Flotsam then thought to add that she, Gadfly, gray griffon, was a prisoner and as such he had no reason to answer her anyhow, but by then he’d sort of used up his iniative with his much touchier, more heated response and trying to go back and change it now would just be silly and sad.
Perhaps contemplating their lives, they shared another sullen moment.
Flotsam could almost see the gears of Gadfly’s brain clicking over. Click. Click... She hitched her voice up like another would their skirts, and her expression became almost pleasant. “Hey, would you, maybe, help me escape?”
“You mean, escape the ship? Because…” Daring escape plans filled his thoughts. Flotsam had a dizzying moment as his moral compass spun freely. Helping lone prisoners escape the bellies of ships is, after all, a very traditional aspect of the heroic calling, and dumb instinct was being stubborn. In Flotsam, it was always being stubborn. “No!”
Flotsam swung his hooves around and stood up. His legs were all sorts of wiggly and weird feeling, but more importantly he mad sure to keep well back from the sharp beak. “You attacked us! You attacked me!” His cheeks puffed as he grimaced through his next words. “I got all sticky. You're the pirate here.”
Gadfly took on a thoughtful, considerate manner which, calculated or not (probably not) left Flotsam feeling foalish and foolish for his outburst. In fairness to him and to context, a shrieking griffon head had punched through the wall, thrashed the ship and glared red murder at him, like some cuckoo-alarm clock raised from Tartarus itself just moments before.
But still.
At least, compared to that impression, the griffon was positively philosophic in her poise now. She blinked three, whole-hearted, fluttering, brain-refreshing blinks, then spoke. “What? Um, we were, hired, or something? I don’t know? I thought, we were done? But then they said we weren’t? Even though we were?”
This treatise of thought meandered its way back towards Flotsam. “I can, pay you money, to help me? I mean, my dad can pay you? And he will! He’s probably worried, by now? No hard feelings, about fighting before, I mean, you know?”
If it wouldn’t be essentially jumping on the band wagon, Flotsam could have put his head through the wall just then, too. It was the voice. The worst part was, he knew in his good heart, that it wasn’t Gadfly’s fault, the way she spoke, with the oppressive commas, and the questioning lilt? She seemed – once you got to talk to her – uncomplicated? And genuine.
The Captain’s dismissive remarks about the griffon made a tad more sense now, he thought.
He didn't get the chance to do or say any more, however. “So…oh! OH!” Gadfly the gray griffon was sucked backwards through the hole, trailing an outraged squawk all the way. Feathers poofed on the blow-back of air. Flotsam watched them float down.
Flotsam sagged. He sighed, one of those deep, puffy, let-it-all-out sighs. It helped him register his experiences, a little. “Okay.” A second later, another face poked up against the ragged-edged hole, this time being the unimpressed and unconcerned visage of First Mate Harpoon.
She took stock of Flotsam and his not-actually-a-love-nest-nest. “You alright?”
Before he could answer, she turned away from him. “Stop. Stop. It goes better for you if you keep quiet. Windlass doesn’t want to hurt you,” he heard her say, and Harpoon’s tone was such in its clear communication that Windlass very much could hurt the griffon, her wants aside, and that Harpoon herself would not be unduly fettered by such a turn of events.
A moment’s pause, a shuffle of hooves and then, “Yeah, that’s fine.” … “No, she won’t be a problem.” … “He’s right there.” … “Alright, yeah.”
She cocked her head back to the hole. She gestured back with a shrug. “Captain wants you here.” She gestured the distressed blankets and assorted mess. “The filly?”
Flotsam nodded and found his voice. “Yeah.” He tried to remember the various squeezes, ducks and turns that had brought him to this secluded spot. “Give me a minute. Maybe two?”
“Hey.”
Flotsam didn’t have to turn to know the slight grin would be there, but he did anyway. It was of the sort that only someone like Harpoon could wear naturally – the easy confidence that comes with one's absolute certainty about their situation and control over it. It was the same control with which the First Mate had lead Flotsam about the nameless, secluded spit of an island.
The same with which she’d seduced him. Or he’d seduced himself, to her. He still wasn’t sure exactly which it was, if there was even a clear definition between the two.
Her slight smile waited patiently, as if she could read his thoughts play out across his face and found them cute. His belly fluttered. “Buck up,” she suggested. “And by the way? Welcome to Rivaplút.”
“We’re… here?” he asked, but she’d already turned away and he was left to tend himself.
In the stillness he noticed...the stillness. Not just that of him in the ship, but of the Mother of Mercy herself.
“We’re there…” he mused. Whatever that meant.
He didn’t dwell long; that would’ve have kept the rest waiting. Captain's orders, and all that. First Mate's...something.
The shock would probably hit him more fully later, he dimly knew. A Port. A City. Ponies. Places. A life. A past.
Maybe.
In the meantime…he’d been told to do get from one side of a wall to another (in a better manner than Gadfly had tried) and that, at least, he could wrap his head around.
"We're really there...or, here?"
One of the more traditionally lengthed chapters (in the 1.2-1.6k word range) but, I trust, one that is quality for content. I feel confident that this is a return to proper form after a few wibbles and wobbles with the interlude chapter. This scene leads us imminently into what I tentatively think of as The Next Act, and I expect the word counts per chapter will be bumped considerably higher again for it.
I'm going to have to get good at dialogue 
Do share your thoughts below!
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It took me 4 chapter updates and a featured appearance for me to realise I didn't follow the story for updates. Now I have to play catch up.
Aghhhh! And right when Gadfly was coming into the picture. Why'd ya have to stop? ;n;
Jolly good stuff, sire! I look forward to the coming chapters with great intrigue.
I knew it. Those griffons were sent to find Shining Armour, I suspect someone tried to bump him off and are trying to finish the job. Someone in Grey Port perhaps - it would suggest Shining found something there he wasn't supposed to see...
Nicely captures the confused state that Flotsam is in upon his rude awakening. I actually like Gadfly, and she lets some interesting tidbits out. It does seem likely that the Griffons were responsible for leaving Shining adrift, but I assume from her general cluelessness (especially about the job being done and then not done) that she at least was unaware that the stallion was the specific target all along. So she has a rich father, does she? I wonder if he has ever done a spit-take in front of royalty.
I assume that she had been put to work repairing holes in the ship, what with the sawdust and assorted lumber scraps that Flotsom found himself under. I know they needed to make those repairs in a hurry once they reached port to ensure they were prepared before the Griffons limped in themselves. I'm eager to see what that charming sounding city has to offer...
I mean, I know she tried to kill the crew, but...
Gadfly is so cuuute!!! I just wanna snuggle her and tell her it's okay!
So Gadfly only speaks in questions? Was that intended as an accent of some sort? Hey did you know the sky is blue sometimes? So like, I was walking to work one day? And this homeless guy said "Hey, you got weasels on your face?" I wasn't sure so I looked in a mirror? So I said to the homeless guy "Oh by the way my name is Bob?" And for some reason he looked at me like I was crazy? I don't get it?!
6964823
The low hanging fruit, so often, is the sweetest.
I do not regret.
6964823
The low sitting moon, incidentally, also seems largest.
still not regretting
Am I the only one who read Gadfly and Flotsam's question dialogue as Christopher Walken?
"was" probably shouldn't be there
"made sure"
This chapter was a pleasant reminder of why I started to follow this story (not that you stopped doing these), the onomatopoeias and the almost dialogue-like narration that gives the whole thing a pleasant bit of noise.
6966806 These, and
lightning
(lightening is strictly as in "to lighten")
had led
Gadfly reminded me of the modern classic "Eats, Shoots & Leaves".
6967964
A lot of professionally published works use ' as qoutations " - particularily in Britain - as character-qouting-someone-else. The truth is, you can use either format, provided you're internally consistent. The real sin was that I wasn't, and defaulted to " since a lot of readers really didn't like the '
That aside... hope you're enjoying the story! (I don't need no grammatical conflict to slowly drive the readers insane
6968278 I've finally caught up, and yes, I'm enjoying the story so much that school starts in three hours and I just spent the whole night gorging on this masterpiece.
Now that you mention it, I think I remember hearing about apostrophes and quotation marks being interchangeable for the purpose of dialogue. I wish that they'd teach that universally...though it still irks me for some reason. Curse you imprinted false education!
I truly hope that this will be updating regularly since the chapters towards this point have been getting shorter...and I'm excited to see "Flotsam" have at least a small permanent epiphany where he remembers at the very least being a guard and being married...but I have a feeling that the amnesia is not just a result of trauma, but is magical in origin and may be actively implemented, mayhaps by a certain deity of the Coral Coast (I think that was the name...I'm tired)? I just wanna see Shining kick flank, or watch the whole crew feel disappointed and/or guilty for advancing on a married stallion. Speaking of which, I'm beginning to think the Captain might have some sort of repressed attachment for Flotsam, maybe due to something from the past. That could also be part of the reason why she has a mare-only crew, other than to prevent distraction.
It's been quiet a wait for Gadfly, but it was definitely worth it, I'm already loving that silly catbird!
6968535
I tend to update about once a week, without keeping to any exact schechdule. That said, since we've concluded the 'sailing about the place willy-nilly' arc and just reached the 'ok, let's actually meet and greet and see stuff and figure stuff out' arc, I expect word counts will go up quite a bit, on the simple merit that there's more materials to work with.
And yes, it does tend to be that the little-bit dogmatic approach of higher education tends just a little bit to be variable or even disregarded by highly successful peoples.
Glad you enjoying it! BUT as a responsible writer I can't condone you staying up uber-late to read my story even if it makes me flush with delight that you do so
ALSO - tea-lapping Fluttershy is stupidly cute.
6969322 Glad you've enjoyed her burst onto stage!
6969637 I had no regrets!
6966506 Maybe? But I love you all the more for it. Walken is a compliment and then some!
So this has been sitting in my Read It Later Folder forever, and wow, I find myself anxious to read every chapter, it is so good!!!
Awesome story :)
Can't wait for the next chapter
things be heating up!
7010104 And.... I don't see your name here
7039525 I learned that a long time ago, mate. Ambion told me about it.
You still impress me very deeply with your command of prose. That hasn't changed the whole time I've been reading.
It's really interesting reading prose, or other little snippets of whatever-word-you-might-like-that's-prose, that's more attuned with the story and says more in less words than you can manage. I'm really envious of that particular talent of yours.
How long does it take you to write a chapter of this story, famalam? Let's assume a chapter is 3,000 words.
These chapters better go back to 3,000 words, by the way.
7091267 I've been under something of an unintended miniature hiatus lately: life and a dead laptop. Learning to write off a tablet is slow going and more so, I've wanted a bit of time to consider what I want for the next phase of the story. Since it's been long enough : NEXT CHAPTER FRIDAY or sooner. It's a deadline as much for me as anyone.
Chapters will be longer too
So far all of Flotsam's existence has been limited to the Mother of Mercy; I wonder how well he will take to land for the first time.
I like how the interaction between Gadfly and Flotsam sounded.
It seemed both genuine and genuinely confused on both parts.
Flotsam has his amnesia and natural instincts working at cross, side and intersecting-parallel-purposes while Gadfly is just a bit of a bird-brain.
(No offense, Gadfly.)