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City of Suckers
From up this high, Ponyville looked like a basket full of gold. The sun shone on the straw roofs, birds darted from trees, to lampposts, then back again, and the ponies milled about in clumps of bright color.
They looked like they could use a good fleecing.
Gallus sailed around in easy circles. He cast a look down at the school of friendship to make sure Grandpa Gruff wasn’t following him. But the sky was clear of everyone but him. The old crow probably hadn’t noticed him slip away. Whatever. Let him stand like an idiot with the rest of the ponies, him and his rusty beak, him and his dirty-feather-smelling satchel. Gallus had money to make, and it wasn’t like he had to be physically at the school to get registered anyways. Probably.
Gallus peered down at Ponyville with eagle eyes. The sun was hot on his back, the breeze cool on his face. Already, he had some ideas. Many ponies had loose saddlebags, some of them not even clipped shut. Slipping a talon inside and snatching some bits would be easy. But there were too many marks, not enough time. And it wasn’t just the ponies, it was their little windows in their little houses: Unbroken, unlocked, some of them just left open. At first, Gallus considered sneaking in and taking something worth taking, but then he had a better idea. Gallus the Griffon: Security Consultant. All he had to do was knock on their doors, shake their hooves, lock their windows, say “you’re welcome” and charge them through the nose. If only he had time to make business cards.
The wind suddenly carried a scent. It was heated and soft, sharp but floaty, there and then gone. Gallus stopped and hovered and scanned, and right there, sitting unprotected on a windowsill on the edge of town, was a pie.
“Score.”
Lunch would be good. Can’t scam ponies on an empty stomach.
He tucked in his wings and dove, the town and wind rushing up to meet him. The pie smelled stronger as he fell. Apples and cinnamon. Gallus’s beak watered.
He lighted next to the window quietly, carefully, never making a sound. He peered over the steaming pie into the kitchen. Nopony home. Just green floral wallpaper, a gaudy cat-clock ticking on the wall, and an open book on the table. The breeze floating in through the window was trying to turn the page.
Gallus took a big whiff of the pie and thanked the pony who baked it for being such a fool. Then she walked in the room.
She froze. So did Gallus.
“Hi there,” she said. There was no sign of shock in her voice, or in her face. She had white fur and two shades of red in her hair. Faint green eyes.
Gallus closed his beak when he realized it was slack. “Hey,” he answered.
Something beeped in the kitchen. Gallus was sure it was an alarm. Then the pony did the most unbelievably stupid thing Gallus had ever seen in his life. She took her eyes off him. As if nothing was wrong, she pranced over to the oven, tapped it until the beeping stopped, placed some strange plastic mold in her mouth, opened the hatch, and pulled out a tray of cookies with her teeth. The smell of the pie was gone right away, replaced by chocolate and batter. The pony placed the cookies on the table, tapped one of them with her hoof, then smiled.
She turned back to Gallus. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Don’t think so.”
“Okay.” The pony looked left, then right, then back at Gallus. She rolled her eyes conversationally. “So… What’s your name?”
“Gallus.”
“Gallus.” The pony nodded. “Cool name.”
“Thanks,” said Gallus. “It’s a type of chicken.”
The pony laughed. “Are you new in town, Gallus?”
“No. I mean, not for a couple weeks.”
The pony frowned, but it only lasted a second. “Oh!” she said. “You’re going to Twilight’s friendship School, right? I heard registration’s today.”
Gallus nodded. “Yep.”
“That is so cool.” Then her eyes pincered, a little evilly. “Do you know what they teach you on your first day?”
“No.”
“Want me to tell you? You’ll be one step ahead of the class.”
Gallus thought about it. As weird as this all was, that sounded like an okay idea.
“Alright.”
The pony sat back on her haunches and lifted her chin dramatically. “The first thing you must always do when making a new friend,” she lectured, “is to ask their name.”
“Okay.”
The pony’s chin dropped to Gallus’s level. She smirked.
“Oh!” Gallus winced. “Crap. Uh… What’s…?”
“Roseluck.”
“Roseluck.” Gallus pointed a talon at her, a little lamely. “Cool name.”
“Thanks,” said Roseluck. “It’s a type of flower.”
Roseluck glanced at the pie between them. It was the first sign of suspicion Gallus had seen on her. But, as if upset with herself, she frowned and went back to poking her cookies. It seemed to make her happy.
“Why both…?” Gallus croaked.
“I’m sorry?”
Gallus cleared his throat. “Why are you making pie and cookies? Baking’s already kind of a waste of time anyways, so, like…” Gallus gestured. “Why make it harder on yourself?”
“I’m having friends over tonight. Some of them prefer cookies.” She started pushing the cookies around the tray, like a sculptor chiseling at her slab. “The girls can never agree on anything.”
A joke formed in Gallus’s head, and he thought, what the hell. “Ponies not liking pie?” he said. “Now I’ve heard everything.”
Roseluck smiled. “It’s not that they don’t like pie. I just want them to have their favorites.” And she left it at that. “Would you like a slice?”
“What? For real?”
“Yeah, I mean,” and here she looked bashful, “you’d probably find tastier stuff down at Sweet Apple Acres. Applejack’s a better baker than me. But hey! I guess she’ll be one of your teachers, huh?”
Before Gallus could answer, Roseluck plucked the pie off the windowsill and took it inside. One quick rummage through the kitchen later, and there was a glass plate on the sill, complete with a fork, napkin, and about an eighth of the pie. The slice oozed slowly.
“It might be hot,” she said. “Maybe let it cool a bit first.”
“Okay.”
Gallus picked up the plate, struggling to understand why he was okay having just a slice when he’d almost had the whole thing. No, not just okay. This felt better.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Roseluck turned back to her kitchen. Back to her life. Gallus kept his eyes on her. He brought the pie up to his face and blew on it once, then twice, then grabbed the fork.
Once, about a year ago, Gallus had stolen an apple blossom from somepony. Some Griffonstone tourist, with loose saddlebags like the rest of them, there for the sake of saying they’d been there, and not to actually be there. Gallus had swiped the treat from his plate without detection, ducked into an alley and munched on it without shame. It tasted like heaven. Fresh out of the oven yet cool enough not to burn, sugar crystals that dissolved on his tongue, a sweet and salty balance striking for perfect harmony.
It had nothing on Roseluck’s apple pie.
Gallus’s body crumpled.
“Oh, and Gallus?”
“Y—” Gallus swallowed. “Yeah?”
Roseluck’s face appeared in the window, smiling in the sun. She winked.
“Welcome to Ponyville.”
They looked like they could use a good fleecing.
Gallus sailed around in easy circles. He cast a look down at the school of friendship to make sure Grandpa Gruff wasn’t following him. But the sky was clear of everyone but him. The old crow probably hadn’t noticed him slip away. Whatever. Let him stand like an idiot with the rest of the ponies, him and his rusty beak, him and his dirty-feather-smelling satchel. Gallus had money to make, and it wasn’t like he had to be physically at the school to get registered anyways. Probably.
Gallus peered down at Ponyville with eagle eyes. The sun was hot on his back, the breeze cool on his face. Already, he had some ideas. Many ponies had loose saddlebags, some of them not even clipped shut. Slipping a talon inside and snatching some bits would be easy. But there were too many marks, not enough time. And it wasn’t just the ponies, it was their little windows in their little houses: Unbroken, unlocked, some of them just left open. At first, Gallus considered sneaking in and taking something worth taking, but then he had a better idea. Gallus the Griffon: Security Consultant. All he had to do was knock on their doors, shake their hooves, lock their windows, say “you’re welcome” and charge them through the nose. If only he had time to make business cards.
The wind suddenly carried a scent. It was heated and soft, sharp but floaty, there and then gone. Gallus stopped and hovered and scanned, and right there, sitting unprotected on a windowsill on the edge of town, was a pie.
“Score.”
Lunch would be good. Can’t scam ponies on an empty stomach.
He tucked in his wings and dove, the town and wind rushing up to meet him. The pie smelled stronger as he fell. Apples and cinnamon. Gallus’s beak watered.
He lighted next to the window quietly, carefully, never making a sound. He peered over the steaming pie into the kitchen. Nopony home. Just green floral wallpaper, a gaudy cat-clock ticking on the wall, and an open book on the table. The breeze floating in through the window was trying to turn the page.
Gallus took a big whiff of the pie and thanked the pony who baked it for being such a fool. Then she walked in the room.
She froze. So did Gallus.
“Hi there,” she said. There was no sign of shock in her voice, or in her face. She had white fur and two shades of red in her hair. Faint green eyes.
Gallus closed his beak when he realized it was slack. “Hey,” he answered.
Something beeped in the kitchen. Gallus was sure it was an alarm. Then the pony did the most unbelievably stupid thing Gallus had ever seen in his life. She took her eyes off him. As if nothing was wrong, she pranced over to the oven, tapped it until the beeping stopped, placed some strange plastic mold in her mouth, opened the hatch, and pulled out a tray of cookies with her teeth. The smell of the pie was gone right away, replaced by chocolate and batter. The pony placed the cookies on the table, tapped one of them with her hoof, then smiled.
She turned back to Gallus. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“Don’t think so.”
“Okay.” The pony looked left, then right, then back at Gallus. She rolled her eyes conversationally. “So… What’s your name?”
“Gallus.”
“Gallus.” The pony nodded. “Cool name.”
“Thanks,” said Gallus. “It’s a type of chicken.”
The pony laughed. “Are you new in town, Gallus?”
“No. I mean, not for a couple weeks.”
The pony frowned, but it only lasted a second. “Oh!” she said. “You’re going to Twilight’s friendship School, right? I heard registration’s today.”
Gallus nodded. “Yep.”
“That is so cool.” Then her eyes pincered, a little evilly. “Do you know what they teach you on your first day?”
“No.”
“Want me to tell you? You’ll be one step ahead of the class.”
Gallus thought about it. As weird as this all was, that sounded like an okay idea.
“Alright.”
The pony sat back on her haunches and lifted her chin dramatically. “The first thing you must always do when making a new friend,” she lectured, “is to ask their name.”
“Okay.”
The pony’s chin dropped to Gallus’s level. She smirked.
“Oh!” Gallus winced. “Crap. Uh… What’s…?”
“Roseluck.”
“Roseluck.” Gallus pointed a talon at her, a little lamely. “Cool name.”
“Thanks,” said Roseluck. “It’s a type of flower.”
Roseluck glanced at the pie between them. It was the first sign of suspicion Gallus had seen on her. But, as if upset with herself, she frowned and went back to poking her cookies. It seemed to make her happy.
“Why both…?” Gallus croaked.
“I’m sorry?”
Gallus cleared his throat. “Why are you making pie and cookies? Baking’s already kind of a waste of time anyways, so, like…” Gallus gestured. “Why make it harder on yourself?”
“I’m having friends over tonight. Some of them prefer cookies.” She started pushing the cookies around the tray, like a sculptor chiseling at her slab. “The girls can never agree on anything.”
A joke formed in Gallus’s head, and he thought, what the hell. “Ponies not liking pie?” he said. “Now I’ve heard everything.”
Roseluck smiled. “It’s not that they don’t like pie. I just want them to have their favorites.” And she left it at that. “Would you like a slice?”
“What? For real?”
“Yeah, I mean,” and here she looked bashful, “you’d probably find tastier stuff down at Sweet Apple Acres. Applejack’s a better baker than me. But hey! I guess she’ll be one of your teachers, huh?”
Before Gallus could answer, Roseluck plucked the pie off the windowsill and took it inside. One quick rummage through the kitchen later, and there was a glass plate on the sill, complete with a fork, napkin, and about an eighth of the pie. The slice oozed slowly.
“It might be hot,” she said. “Maybe let it cool a bit first.”
“Okay.”
Gallus picked up the plate, struggling to understand why he was okay having just a slice when he’d almost had the whole thing. No, not just okay. This felt better.
“Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it.”
Roseluck turned back to her kitchen. Back to her life. Gallus kept his eyes on her. He brought the pie up to his face and blew on it once, then twice, then grabbed the fork.
Once, about a year ago, Gallus had stolen an apple blossom from somepony. Some Griffonstone tourist, with loose saddlebags like the rest of them, there for the sake of saying they’d been there, and not to actually be there. Gallus had swiped the treat from his plate without detection, ducked into an alley and munched on it without shame. It tasted like heaven. Fresh out of the oven yet cool enough not to burn, sugar crystals that dissolved on his tongue, a sweet and salty balance striking for perfect harmony.
It had nothing on Roseluck’s apple pie.
Gallus’s body crumpled.
“Oh, and Gallus?”
“Y—” Gallus swallowed. “Yeah?”
Roseluck’s face appeared in the window, smiling in the sun. She winked.
“Welcome to Ponyville.”
This story's interaction between Roseluck and Gallus is undoubtedly its strongest feature. Rose's character is super sharp and in-focus. the sass, the friendship--it's all there for her! Very nice job.
Where I feel the story suffers is, it lingers too long on the intro and Gallus's thieving reputation and not enough on the ending. It seems like the moral you were going for was, "The spoils of friendship taste sweeter than the spoils of treachery," but I think a little more out of Roseluck beyond her snippy last line could make that more clear, especially considering how obvious Gallus was in trying to yoink her pie.
Where I feel the story suffers is, it lingers too long on the intro and Gallus's thieving reputation and not enough on the ending. It seems like the moral you were going for was, "The spoils of friendship taste sweeter than the spoils of treachery," but I think a little more out of Roseluck beyond her snippy last line could make that more clear, especially considering how obvious Gallus was in trying to yoink her pie.
I know Griffons are jerkasses, but I hadn't quite taken them for such outright thieves, so this presents a really cool take on an immediate clash of culture. What sells me the most though is the environmental details; birds darting around, the scent of pie carried up into the sky, watering beaks I didn't even know they could do that, Gallus trash talking Gruff to himself. Little things add up, and these added up to an enjoyable little lesson on how am does do friendship.
Be still my BEATING heart, it’s Gallus. And look, you’ve met your Season 1 pony quota with Roseluck.
Barely.
I like this, but I think Gallus is whiffing on the stakes here a bit. He was basically caught red-handed attempting to steal something. Probably would not go down well with Twilight and her staff. He’s lucky Roseluck is so cool about this.
All of this to say: maybe Gallus could be doing a little more worrying about all this putting his entrance into the friendship school in jeopardy? Maybe try a little harder to run away? Maybe don’t give the girl your name?
Other than that, though, pretty good. It doesn’t go out to win many awards, but the character work and dialogue are both nice. I just think the scene is missing some tension. Thanks for writing and gooooooooooooood luck.
Barely.
I like this, but I think Gallus is whiffing on the stakes here a bit. He was basically caught red-handed attempting to steal something. Probably would not go down well with Twilight and her staff. He’s lucky Roseluck is so cool about this.
All of this to say: maybe Gallus could be doing a little more worrying about all this putting his entrance into the friendship school in jeopardy? Maybe try a little harder to run away? Maybe don’t give the girl your name?
Other than that, though, pretty good. It doesn’t go out to win many awards, but the character work and dialogue are both nice. I just think the scene is missing some tension. Thanks for writing and gooooooooooooood luck.