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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
Gilda Has the Floor
Gilda strode to the podium at the center of the head table and gazed out at all the pairs of eyes watching her. It didn’t matter. She’d commanded attention all her life, for her speed, for her attitude, for her… Well, not too many griffons around. Didn’t bother her one bit.
She stared at a spot on the floor, just in front of the first row of tables. A packed house, not an empty seat out there. So many colors. Griffons didn’t have that much of a range of color—brown, gray, white, black. Maybe a dye job here and there. But so much color. Too much… No. No time for this. She took a long breath and swirled the cider around in her glass.
Her fifth glass. They’d told her to save it, that it was for later, but she kept draining it, and they kept refilling it, with a bigger scowl each time. Then came all the toasts, the liquid’s level inching down with each one, and now her turn. Her turn.
After all that cider, how could her throat be so dry? Gilda watched the ripples dancing in her glass, little golden things bouncing back and forth. What was making it shake like that? Good thing she had this cider with her. Steady her nerves.
In the seat beside her, Applejack cleared her throat amid the dead silence. Gilda blinked, downed the remainder, and jiggled her glass in Applejack’s direction.
That simple farm pony glared at her, but she slid the pitcher over and refilled Gilda’s drink anyway. Another round, barkeep.
Gilda held it up to her beak and sniffed it before holding it up high above her head. “To Rainbow Dash!” she said. Was her voice really that loud? She leaned forward to brace a claw on the podium. “The biggest bastard ever to wreck the skies of Equestria. Am I right?”
She leered sidelong at Applejack. That straight-laced pony would learn to take a joke sometime. And at the next seat over, the yellow pony, Flutter-something. She’d ducked her head down onto the table and covered her nose with her napkin.
“She’s done with me now, huh? Movin’ on.” Gilda slouched forward even farther, resting on an elbow. “Why… Wh-why’d she even invite me to this? Leavin’ me behind.”
Adopting her best dumb-guy voice, she added, “Don’t need Gilda anymore.” The glass had sunk, down by her face again, and she reached her tongue toward it, but up again. Up. She lifted the drink back up. “To Rainbow Dash.” Some mumbling, some clinking of glasses. She rolled her eyes up at the cider, and through it, the ceiling spun, went black.
Gilda rubbed her head. Her glass gone, but the spilled contents still on the rug next to her. Dishes banging together, but nothing in here. Quiet in here.
She pulled herself up to the table again and grabbed two clawfuls of podium to keep herself standing. Some plates still on the table. “To Rainbow Dash.” She reached for the pitcher, but… empty.
“You don’t need that. It won’t cure you.”
Who…?
Gilda scanned the tables, all vacant now. Except… pink.
“I… I guess everyone’s pretty mad at me,” Gilda said.
“Maybe. Not me.” Why’d Pinkie have to get so serious all of a sudden? Couldn’t she go prank someone? She should be bouncing around, acting stupid, so Gilda could tell her she was stupid. Stupid pony.
Ugh. Gilda wobbled as she pressed a fist to her temple, and then her eye. Hold it in, Gilda.
Pinkie just sat there with her ears drooped. Her intense stare, eyes welling… like she’d take Gilda’s tears and cry them herself. Gilda looked away, couldn’t see that, and next thing she knew, Pinkie had her locked in a hug.
She should stop Pinkie. She should. Her throat burned. And then Pinkie pressed something into Gilda’s claw. A necklace. The setting, in a lightning bolt shape, but no stone.
“Dashie left this to you. She wanted you to have it.”
Gilda stared at it. “Why? Why, I don’t deserve it, I—”
“She said you do.” The hug tightened.
So did her grip on the necklace. And a stifled wail started, from… from her own throat. She sank to her knees, and Pinkie held her while she trembled and clutched at the feathers on top of her head.
“Let’s go,” Pinkie finally whispered in her ear. And then someone lifted Gilda up and carried her from that awful, still room.
She stared at a spot on the floor, just in front of the first row of tables. A packed house, not an empty seat out there. So many colors. Griffons didn’t have that much of a range of color—brown, gray, white, black. Maybe a dye job here and there. But so much color. Too much… No. No time for this. She took a long breath and swirled the cider around in her glass.
Her fifth glass. They’d told her to save it, that it was for later, but she kept draining it, and they kept refilling it, with a bigger scowl each time. Then came all the toasts, the liquid’s level inching down with each one, and now her turn. Her turn.
After all that cider, how could her throat be so dry? Gilda watched the ripples dancing in her glass, little golden things bouncing back and forth. What was making it shake like that? Good thing she had this cider with her. Steady her nerves.
In the seat beside her, Applejack cleared her throat amid the dead silence. Gilda blinked, downed the remainder, and jiggled her glass in Applejack’s direction.
That simple farm pony glared at her, but she slid the pitcher over and refilled Gilda’s drink anyway. Another round, barkeep.
Gilda held it up to her beak and sniffed it before holding it up high above her head. “To Rainbow Dash!” she said. Was her voice really that loud? She leaned forward to brace a claw on the podium. “The biggest bastard ever to wreck the skies of Equestria. Am I right?”
She leered sidelong at Applejack. That straight-laced pony would learn to take a joke sometime. And at the next seat over, the yellow pony, Flutter-something. She’d ducked her head down onto the table and covered her nose with her napkin.
“She’s done with me now, huh? Movin’ on.” Gilda slouched forward even farther, resting on an elbow. “Why… Wh-why’d she even invite me to this? Leavin’ me behind.”
Adopting her best dumb-guy voice, she added, “Don’t need Gilda anymore.” The glass had sunk, down by her face again, and she reached her tongue toward it, but up again. Up. She lifted the drink back up. “To Rainbow Dash.” Some mumbling, some clinking of glasses. She rolled her eyes up at the cider, and through it, the ceiling spun, went black.
Gilda rubbed her head. Her glass gone, but the spilled contents still on the rug next to her. Dishes banging together, but nothing in here. Quiet in here.
She pulled herself up to the table again and grabbed two clawfuls of podium to keep herself standing. Some plates still on the table. “To Rainbow Dash.” She reached for the pitcher, but… empty.
“You don’t need that. It won’t cure you.”
Who…?
Gilda scanned the tables, all vacant now. Except… pink.
“I… I guess everyone’s pretty mad at me,” Gilda said.
“Maybe. Not me.” Why’d Pinkie have to get so serious all of a sudden? Couldn’t she go prank someone? She should be bouncing around, acting stupid, so Gilda could tell her she was stupid. Stupid pony.
Ugh. Gilda wobbled as she pressed a fist to her temple, and then her eye. Hold it in, Gilda.
Pinkie just sat there with her ears drooped. Her intense stare, eyes welling… like she’d take Gilda’s tears and cry them herself. Gilda looked away, couldn’t see that, and next thing she knew, Pinkie had her locked in a hug.
She should stop Pinkie. She should. Her throat burned. And then Pinkie pressed something into Gilda’s claw. A necklace. The setting, in a lightning bolt shape, but no stone.
“Dashie left this to you. She wanted you to have it.”
Gilda stared at it. “Why? Why, I don’t deserve it, I—”
“She said you do.” The hug tightened.
So did her grip on the necklace. And a stifled wail started, from… from her own throat. She sank to her knees, and Pinkie held her while she trembled and clutched at the feathers on top of her head.
“Let’s go,” Pinkie finally whispered in her ear. And then someone lifted Gilda up and carried her from that awful, still room.