Feathers, beaks, and the sick laughter of Murphy

Chapters

The first chortle: Something dangerous, this way comes. (3.0)
The second chortle: Head intolerably near the clouds. (3.0)
The third chortle: Wherein a human gets clean. And then dies. (2.0)

The first chortle: Something dangerous, this way comes. (3.0)

I liked to take my mornings slow. Sure, rising early every day with determination in your heart and purpose in your stride were ideals to look up to, but something could be said for just lying awake with your eyes closed. The sun was particularly gentle this morning, spreading warmth across my face as I stretched my arms out, popping a few joints, bidding fresh blood to rush through bone and sinew.

Now that I thought about it, today was a Saturday; I could sleep for just a few more hours without the folks giving me flak about it.

Not one to pass up such a chance, I turned, pulled my cover closer, and nuzzled my cheek into my pillow. A few feathers must have fallen out while I tossed and turned last night; the firm, pin-like middles grazed my flesh.

Wait.

I don't have a feather pillow.

I groaned. If this was another of Devin's pranks, I was going to kill him, or rather, get Mom to kill him. It is unwise to engage a college linebacker in glorious melee combat. Either way, trying to trigger someone's allergies was a low blow, even for him.

I cursed my brother with another groan. I had to get up before a reaction kicked in, the sooner I dealt with this, the sooner I could go back to sleep. I opened my eyes.

And through blurred vision, beheld a mass of white feathers joined with a coat of brown... fur? The bed creaked as I sat up.

And then there was a beak.

And talons, very sharp, black talons with little detailed cracks in them at odd places. Closer to the head of the bed was a closed eyelid, bunkered around a patch of darkish-purple skin.

I frowned at the sight, who leaves a life-like griffin doll in one's bed as a prank? How the heck was it so warm? Was it plugged into the wall or something? The feathers probably weren't even real, explaining why I have yet t-

"Chii!"

I caught the sneeze in my throat. Call me a neat freak, but I didn’t like leaving snot all over my sheets. The feathers, however, were authentic. A slight burning sensation spread its way across my nose and throat. Annoying, but not as bad as it could be.

I pressed my fingertip against the "griffon's" chest. A strong, steady pulse pushed back against me.

"Holy hell no, there's a live griffon in my bed."

You will note the lack of an exclamation mark there, I had sense enough to whisper. I'd played enough Heroes of Might and Magic to know what one of those things could do to fleshy, level one, corporeal beings like myself.

I had to get up slowly and exfiltrate unnoticed. If the thing woke up, I’d be bird feed.

Slowly, carefully, I inched backwards at a mere millimeter-a-minute rate. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast, fast is escaping predation.

Creak!

'Damn you, Mattressfirm!'

Before I could void my bowels, the thing opened its beak, revealing a small, slick, red tongue before turning over directly on top of me.

It was uncomfortably warm and smothered my breath, only my left leg was free of the surprisingly fluffy mass, I could feel the steady rise and fall of its chest on my stomach, it was still asleep, meaning I was still alive. For the moment at least.

I tried to move. My knee was pressed against a firm pad that reminded me of our cat's. The claw at the end dragged down my shin as it shifted over me, a considerable amount of its bulk bore down on my shoulders and chest. The pad halted against my ankle just as one of the griffon's talons wrapped its way around my waist. I was faintly aware of a warm glob of drool penetrating the thin layer of hair on my head.

That was when God decided to let Murphy have his way with me.

A familiar pressure built up at the back of my throat. Panicking, I tried to shimmy away, but only succeeded in tangling my limbs with the griffon's own. There was no way to cover my face, and amount of clamping down that would hold the coming monsoon at bay.

I sneezed loud and hard, and in the span of a single moment, signed my own death warrant.

There was a squawk, and the talons around me snagged at my shirt a bit as they came loose, the pressure on my waist was nigh-instantly relieved and I could once again breath easily, though that was the least of my worries.

Its eyes, great dark things rimmed with yellow, bored into me. Its beak shut and it brushed an errant trail of saliva away with a talon.

'Let us pray'

'Dear Lord, I am sorry for only coming to you when Murphy has me under his putrid armpit in a strangle hold, but hear your servant out this one last time. If you deliver me from the accused one's hand, I promise to never sneak bites in while the family is praying over dinner, even on macaroni and cheese nights. I promise to make no more Hitler jokes. I promise to always change Oreo's water bowl in a timely manner. I promise to cease my efforts in weaponize my little sister's chemistry set in my crusade against the ants. Furthermore, I-'

"What are you doing in my bed?!"

My eyes snapped open, 'Did it just?'

'No, couldn't be. This is just my mind playing tricks on me,' I thought, this time squeezing my eyes shut hard enough to feel veins pulsating under the lids. I bit at my tongue about four times as hard. 'In fact, there is a good chance that I am already dead. Or in the throughs of a bad dream. I’ll just wait until I wake up or pass on.’

"Well?" The same grouchy voice struck my ears. A cold, sharp thing pressed against my nose. With a very unmasculine squeal I stared cross-eyed at its curved yellow beak while my brain took a moment to reboot.

"Please don't eat me!"

I threw myself backwards, managing to grab the pillow on the way. I grunted, slamming the back of my head into the wall, which was much closer to the bed than I remember, through the red dots in my vision and the sickening throbs racking their way through my spine, I raised my only means of defense against the hulking beast of war in front of my face. It was torn away in a second.

"I'm not gonna eat you, dweeb! Just answer me!"

"You... You're not going to eat me?" My voice was barely above a whisper, my heart hammered against my chest.

The griffin grabbed my shoulders in its talons, tight, but not enough to cause lacerations; "No, but I might just gut you if you don't speak up."

Its voice was deadpan, I had no idea if it was serious or not, but I knew that it couldn't hurt me, even if it tried.

If griffins could both exist and talk, surely, answering my prayers would be a simple matter.

I lightly brushed its talons aside, stood up, walked a few paces and kneeled, facing the window. Gilda, to this day, still laughs at me, saying that I wept like a chick at that moment. To be honest though, all I can remember was how ecstatic I felt.

I stared straight into the sun peaking out from the clouds, casting its brilliant rays on my raised hands, palms face up.

"Praise God."

Author's Note

Well, Incursion not this was supposed to be my first fic, but here you go.

It started with this little thread as a quick thirty or so word answer.

That was when the plot bunny struck. It nawed and bit and pulled at my brain until this came into fruition.

I am bad at following plans.

All I have to say is thank/curse you Seether00 for making me spawn this and may God forgive me for what I am about to do.

Tear this story to shreds commenters, it will only make me better at my craft.

The second chortle: Head intolerably near the clouds. (3.0)

The next thing I felt was a sharp pressure in my shoulder before everything rushed into a multicolored.

It seemed that, in addition to hiring a talking griffin hit-woman, Devin replaced the lights with a pair of yellow, transparent crystal clusters that jutted out in sets of four. They crawled downwards like stalactites, the middle ones being longer than the surrounding three.

Devin definitely had too much time on his hands. If he dipped in his tuition fund for this, Mom was going to be livid.

"Talk!" The griffin stood above me, its- or rather, her voice came out as half screech and half scream, like a person in a shout-off with a bald eagle.

I scooted towards the door, ignoring the rub-burn it inflicted on my bum. When I cleared enough space, I sat up, only for her to be upon in two wing-beats. She had no hair around her brows to speak of; though the purple spots around her eyes crinkled into a scowl.

"The ceiling is pretty?" I stammered.

In my panic I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind, and it was stupid. Panic and stupid are like conjoined twins.

She stared at me blankly for a second, her beak ajar. I felt the reaction before it came, akin to the moment when a baby falls on its head and just looks at you with huge eyes for a split second before releasing the floodgates. Except this time, the only tears would be coming from me as my still-beating heart was ripped out of my chest.

Somewhere in the ninth circle of hell, Murphy and Satan were laughing over a cheap pack of beer at my expense.

The next noise she made was all screech, like a raptor diving upon a poor defenseless salmon.

I bolted to my feet, though I had a hard time standing at all, my joints were pudding. It was a small miracle that I had yet to soil my clothes.

Yeah, because it would be oh so disrespectful if the mortician had to deal with a bit of waste alongside the usual viscera.

"I don't know!" I shook my head enough to feel my brain whipping about. "Wait." I frowned. "What did you mean your bed?"

The griffin gave a harrumph and leaned forward, poking me in the chest with every two or so words. "I mean my bed, in my room, in my house!" Everything she said following that was a dull, incoherent roar. Maybe my reptile brain kept me backing up a step with each jab, but the rest of me wasn’t in the moment.

“Not possible.” I said, more to myself than anyone.

'Today is Saturday,' I thought.

'Yesterday; I went to school, took a history test, came home, ate dinner, showered, pretended to understand my textbooks, and slept. Unless there was some truth behind all those jokes about this year's senior prank being the contamination of the cafeteria's salisbury steak supply with acid, I am pretty sure that nothing went amiss during my waking hours. There are exactly zero logical explanations for waking up next to a giant talking bird of prey.'

A sensation brought my train of thought to a close. No, it was a lack of a sensation. The griffin’s talon hovered before my chest. A blue string of shirt fabric hung from it.

Her eyes were stuck on something to the side of me; just a second ago, she was all sound and fury, now it was the opposite. Common sense screamed for me to capitalize on this moment, to jump out of the nearest window, to do something other than see why I was offered this brief respite. Despite myself, I turned.

Standing in the doorway was a taller griffin with a grey coat, speckled white. Its neck and head feathers were a pale shade of tan. It held a single white talon to its beak, letting it rest on the carpet only after locking a pair of green-rimmed eyes with my own.

Double griffins in the one hallucination. My sanity score had to be somewhere in the single digits.

The newcomer slipped past me and the other griffin on its way to the edge of the bed before settling down.

"Gilda," he said in a deep, measured tone just above a whisper; "Who you let into your bedroom is no business of mine, however, I would ask that you at least keep whatever you're doing at five in the morning quiet. Your sister is still asleep, and I would like to save "the talk" for a much later date than today"

I wasn't going to comment on that last bit.

Gilda on the other hand, flared her wings, "I didn't let her in my room!"

The taller griffon gave her a glare, mouthing, “Quietly, please.”

Slowly, she furled her wings back up and squeezed them against her sides, taking a deep breath. It looked like a kind of self-calming exercise. Her left wing twitched every now and then but it seemed to work for the most part. She continued in a much softer tone, "I woke up to her hugging me. Emperor knows where she came from, the windows and doors are all locked so there's no way she got in withou-"

I raised my hand, by then, I was sitting, legs crisscross applesauce like an elementary kid.

"What?" Gilda snapped.

"I'm a guy."

Her left wing twitched again, tail swishing to and fro like Oreo does before pouncing on someone. I decided against telling her that she was the one who did the hugging.

Distantly, a tiny voice stirred.

We froze. The older griffin stared into the empty hallway with widened eyes. A moment’s passing without griffin number three making an appearance seemed to satisfy him enough to speak up.

"The living room," He said, pointing a poofy white tail tip at the doorway. “And not another sound before then.” He stepped off, brushing between us and stretching his wings with a yawn on the way.

The ceiling was incredibly high, Shaq O'Neal would likely have no problem standing on his own shoulders two times over. Forward we went, four paws, four talons and two feet; yet only one set of creaking steps.

Weird. They were taller than me, when laying down at least. Assuming they were more lion meat than bird meat, they weighed more, too. Perhaps it had something to do with weight distribution; I was all vertical while they had four points and a greater area to walk on.

I followed while a sense of dread crawled its way up my spine on wretched, freezing, spider legs. I recognized absolutely nothing about my surroundings. The walls were a rock-like gray and padded to boot. I pushed on one with my thumb and it gave a bit, like a gym mat. Visibility was low, the nearest source of light came from behind, partially eclipsed by the top of Gilda's frowning face.

It was however, just bright enough to make out all kinds of decorations my family could never afford; marble plates with beautiful swirling patterns stood out at even intervals, capes depicting gold trimmed symbols worthy of representing a bevy of high budget rpg factions sometimes took up the space between. Where they were absent, little curios like ornate helms and model ships with great canvas wings told any visitors that their unwashed feet were dirtying the realm of the upper crust.

And then there was a picture frame. I stopped, barely feeling a hard beak jab into the midsection of my spine.

Four griffins. two of which looked like younger versions of the ones bordering me. They were bunched under what I guessed was a bronze fountain with a giant fish, body curved upwards into a “C” shape, water gushing from its mouth. They were at a park or museum in the middle of summer. The mini-Gilda was front and center, a black furred chick with red feathers hung onto her back, talons resting on her head. To the left was papa griffin and to the right was a red furred, white feathered one who had Gilda's side in a loving embrace. It was the last straw, the last shell needed to shatter my already flimsy wall of denial

'No.'

'No no no no no no no!'

I squinted and tried to change the image with my mind, tried to bend the tall pine-trees into the oaks that grew outside of my home. Tried to will the feathers and beaks and talons away in place of Mom; with her subtle brown skin and black hair that gave off a nice sheen in the light due to her never missing a day of beauty products. Devin, and his perpetually cocky smirk. Dad’s easy-going eyes, almost impossible to upset.

Gilda poked my back again. "What's wrong with you?"

I shook my head, "Nothing, my apologies."

Everything was wrong. My stomach turned knots, if I had anything in my stomach I would have thrown up right there.

'I can't prove that this is real' I thought, more hope than substance. It was so vivid; from the cool carpet on my feet to the smell of thin air with a hint of ash...

A lucid dream. It had to be. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. No need to panic; this would soon be over, I would wake up to a nice Saturday morning, tell my family that I loved them and then laugh about this experience. Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.

The form in front of me coalesced from a hazy silhouette into the taller griffin as we met a pair of windows taller than I was. Blue twilight bled through thin curtains; fully revealing much of the same décor we’d already marched past. A polished round table, much bigger than the paltry thing my family plays board games on was surrounded by an "L" formation of sofas. A fireplace stood beyond them. The ceiling was even higher than the hallway and had a skylight at the very top, a fresh, almost free-flowing feel permeated the room. Like the one you get from stepping outside on a summer day.

He motioned me over to the small part of the "L" while the two griffins sat on the largest piece of furniture together, the male fiddled with a strange, lamp-like thing with the same type of crystals on Gilda's ceiling while the she-griffin cast me a glare that dared me to even blink in the wrong manner.

As his talon slid up the lamp shaft, the crystals gave an increasingly intense glow until all resisting pockets of darkness were eradicated.

"Let's start small; my name is Norward and this," he said, motioning open talons to his right; "is Gilda. Our surname is "Of Golden Tides"

I swallowed, getting the last bits of dryness out of my throat.

"Charles Burke."

The conversation went on, with Norward moving forward from simple questions like "How do you feel?" and "Are you hungry?" in a calm voice that somehow drew a few smiles from the both of us, eventually tapering off into more personal ones. Parents, siblings.

Nationality.

"America?" He parroted, putting an odd inflection on the middle that made it sound like “mare”. "Is that one of the Zebrican Islands or a sub-state of the Crystal Empire?"

I shook my head, prompting a frown from him, he got up and disappeared behind another hallway to the far right; "Hold on a minute."

I heard the muffled sound of drawers opening and closing amid rustling paper. He was back soon enough with a scroll held in his tail which he moved the crystal-stick/lamp to make room for. Unfurling it across half of the table, he asked, "Alight, where’s home?"

I humored him; there were three large continents, two moderately sized ones and multiple outlying islands in between and around them. At the very center was one of the large ones, labeled: Equestria connected to it above was: The Frozen North and to the South-East across an expanse of sea laid Griffonia, I didn't bother to read the other place-names, skimming instead for my own.

No results, as expected. I shook my head.

"Odd." Norward scratched at his neck while Gilda leaned in a bit, I couldn't tell if she wore a curious frown or a disbelieving one, I assumed both.

"Are you a mage or from a family of 'em? A teleportation spell gone awry perhaps?"

He cocked his head to the side when I responded in the negative again. "Magic is all stories and superstition where I’m from. There was a big witchcraft scare or two when America was just a colony and this guy named Chris Angel in recent years, but they were both fakes."

"Ponyfeathers." Gilda said; "Magic is half of what makes your heart pump, it lets plants grow, it's what heals you when you get cut- I mean," She waved her two front limbs in the air "It's in everything."

I stood up, leaving a Charles-rump-sized crater in the couch. The light from the window had grown in intensity while the lamp thing lost its glow. Either Norward had shut it off, or the crystal mechanism didn't work in the presence of direct light. It didn't matter really, I could probably make it work any way that I wanted to, as soon as I figured how to warp the dream.

My surroundings were solid, it would probably be hard to change because my mind already painted a consistent picture, it would be like adding "derf" between five and six. Maybe if I consciously thought about something I had yet to receive "visual" confirmation of.

"May I go outside for a quick second, please?"

"I don't see why not." Norward stretched and led me through a short trek into another hallway; "You'll get a better view from the roof," he explained when I asked why he was leading me there instead of the front door.

The stairs were narrow and went up at sharp incline, never ceasing until the top of my head brushed with the ceiling. I sneezed twice on the way and was coming upon a third when he stopped, feathers littered the stairs in abundance. Norward braced a trapdoor against his shoulder.

"Wait!"

He looked back at me like I had a tapeworm growing from my forehead. I bit my tongue, feeling warmth rush to my cheeks. That was a lot louder than I meant for it to be.

"May I?"

He shrugged, moving aside.

I swallowed, grasped the handle, closed my eyes and tried to visualize something so ludicrous that it would have to come from a dream:

'Pitch black despite light coming in through the windows' I squeezed my eyes a little harder for luck; 'ACDC doing a kids tunes concert with pink strobe-lights under the shadow of three moons made of cheese. In the midst of it all; Sephiroth standing on the turret of a Leman Russ main battle tank flanked by two velociraptors ridden by George Washington and Morgan Freeman.'

'Yes, this image pleases me.' I swung the door open, opening my eyes as soon as my feet hit flat ground.

A clear blue sky and a gush of cold air that stung my lungs with each inward breath. The roof was grey and sloped, covered in chunks of rocky material. Birdsong that I had never heard made itself known in the distance and a cloud floated directly above my head, near enough to reach out and touch.

'Don't panic' I repeated to myself with every step until I reached and sat down on the edge. The sun was just above another lower cloud formation, mercilessly illuminating the area around me; mountains connected by wooden suspension bridges spanned as far as I could see. Their crests and a great part below were carved off, making a stable base for loosely packed groups of mostly white and red and brown, flat-roofed buildings. Far below were more buildings clustered closer together in orderly squares broken up by wide streets.

Figures of every shape and color other than human moved along the roads that spider-webbed through the array and met together into a straight line, making its way into a thicket of misty trees.

"Beautiful, isn't it?"

I hardly acknowledged Norward, or the fact that Gilda had followed us up a short while after.

There had to be some way that I could prove the falsity of it all. A second’s pause, then a grin slowly creeped along my face, too wide to have any humor.

"Hey." I said, the detachment in my own voice scared me a bit. "If I jump, do you think I'll wake up?"

He may have said something, but I had no way to know for certain. I already teetered forward, past the safety of the ledge.

There was the sound of rushing air.

Author's Note

First, I apologize for going through the whole "meet and great scene" it may be considered a cliché by now but it is also the most logical path of progression when I take everyone's character into account.

As per usual, if you see crap, point it out; I will fix it (remind me if I fail to).

Some things that you might be interested in/may have missed due to low context clues:

The chick in the picture IS a red and black OC who is related to a cannon character, consider her my prototype, these things can be done right and I'm determined to prove it.
Charles is African American.
Most griffin names in my fics will be of Teutonic origin.
The walls are padded so griffins can glide around the house a bit in inclement weather conditions without fear of breaking bones (or rather, less fear.).

The third chortle: Wherein a human gets clean. And then dies. (2.0)

A professional skydiver gave a presentation at my school when I was around twelve. I still remember the bright red and blue jumpsuit she wore. She walked circuits around the front row and our principle, old Mr. Knightly, orange tinted googles bouncing from their place around her neck with each excited step.

“There's just nothing like it, you go from a nice warm seat in a plane to clearing a bazillion feet between you and the ground just like that.” She snapped into her microphone, earning a startled yelp from someone to my right, followed by the obligatory spout of giggles all around.

“And then whumph!” She said, spreading her arms wide, “You pull your chute, there's a jerk on your shoulders, and you feel like you’re drifting into a painting fit to go forever. Beaches, glades, and rolling hills! Gosh! I can’t even do the experience justice with words. Falling from sky is the most poetic experience a bloke can have.”

The lady was a liar.

Wind howled past my ears, spraying a cold torrent of needles into my eyes and face. Between rapid blinks, earthen streaks accentuated by the occasional cloud tore around me. Dots on the ground became more and more defined until I could make out several griffins, minotaurs and pastel colored horses.

I would never make it too far, however, as there was a bridge connecting the lower parts of the mountain range between me and the streets. There was also a white furred horse with a brown mane, glasses, and a horn jutting of its forehead. It looked up at me, and I swear its horn tip gleamed as it shut its eyes, letting out a high pitched “Eep!” Had I my wits about me, I’d notice my descent slowing just a tad.

And then something slammed into my side. Barring the sensation of getting slugged in the ribs, my terminal fall ebbed into a peaceful halt with my neck inches above the horn. Vlad The Impaler wouldn't be getting his sacrifice this week.

I careened my neck around for the face of my savior, and decided that unicorn-stick shish kabob would have been preferable. Gilda dumped me on the bridge, belly up, her claws closed around my wrists.

“So you think can sneak into my room and cozy up to me huh? You think you can just dodge the repercussions by offing yourself? Well dweeb, you thought wrong! You’re going to pay me back for every drop of embarrassment you've caused me!”

I'm no stranger to being chewed out, in fact, Devon and I would get into it on multiple occasions. People fortunate enough to always be within their parents' reach, or be an even match for their relatives, would have grown an impressive armory of witty comments accumulated over the ensuing snark wars. My parents are a travel journalist and a soldier; I can count the number of hours they're usually home on a hand and a half. Devon is four years older than me and likely twice my weight class. Where my luckier contemporaries grew in sass, I grew in common sense. At least, that's what I would like to believe.

I looked into Gilda's eyes and took a breath. If she was decent enough to save me, she couldn't be that bad of a bird-lion-thing. It usually took Mom until the count of three to be certain that she was finished with a scolding session, so I gave Gilda six.

“I'm sorry for disrupting your morning and embarrassing you.” I tried to loosen my wrists out of her grasp with negligible success. “But I'm telling you the truth when I say that I had no hand in whatever horribly contrived twist of fate brought me here. Can we please just act like the last hour or so didn't happen?”

“She sounds sincere Gil, I think you should humor her.”

“I'm a male ma'am.” I said. I was slightly deflated, given time to think about how horribly I was taking my circumstances.

Gilda bore her glare against the unicorn who flashed a wide smile in return. With the distraction, I was able to slide my hands out of Gilda's talons. The bridge was pretty sturdy, it didn't sway as I righted myself.

Gilda considered the both of us for a moment, breathing a heavy sigh before she thrust her... something at my chest. - Seriously, do I call it a hand or a forelimb? I'll just go with “fist” as long as it's curled. Terminology isn't important. - I cringed and instinctively took a step back. 'Ha! That's two for flinching!' Devon's third most used phrase rang in my head, though the complementary double jab to the arm didn't come. This earned me a growl from Gilda, making me wonder if she was more big cat than bird, she repeated the motion.

“I'm Gilda, and the over-trusting mare behind me is Papyrus, our city’s librarian.” At the mention of her name, Papyrus stepped forward, lifted my hand with a hoof, and tapped it against my knuckles. She urged me to do the same with Gilda.

Oh. Aliens did the fist pound, too.

“My name is Charles, it's a pleasure.” Gilda's fist was much less coarse than I expected, but that was the last thing on my mind. I scored a point for level heads everywhere. A host of butterflies made their way to the pit of my stomach, with this behind us, we were going to get along just fine.

'Take that, Murphy! You have no hold over my luck!'

“Dweeb,” Gilda muttered.

The butterflies died, wailing in agony.

Papyrus insisted that she tag along with us to Gilda's house, stating that anypony would be a foal to pass up on a chance to chat with an alien. And there happened to be an overdue book she had to pry from Norward's talons anyway.

With Gilda flying lazy circles overhead, we navigated the maze of shaved mountaintops and bridges. They slanted up and down and even spiraled for as far as the mountain range went. I would be more than a little bit hesitant about walking on some of the less stable looking ones, like one that seemed to be held up on one end by a cloud, if Papyrus wasn't such a good tour guide.

She looked and sounded positively bubbly, stopping us every few minutes to point out major shopping districts and the painted marble statues that depicted images of previous emperors alongside their high mages.

“And this,” Papyrus tapped on the foot of a statue wearing green robes. “Is Gavin, our fifty-second emperor and the third to simultaneously hold the title of high mage. Notice anything different about him?”

I gave the statue another once-over; it's monocle-cane combo and the way it held a talon to its chin in a thoughtful expression gave it a rather friendly vibe compared to the others that had their faces in a snarl or a blank stare.

I raised an eyebrow. “He looks more... relaxed?”

“Not exactly what I was hoping you'd say but that is true, good eye.” Before I could draw away, the unicorn landed two pats on my head. I managed to not sneeze on her face- this time. She smiled and cleared her throat. “Gavin was crowned a year after we won the Eighth War of Suppression which was meant to stem a century long secession crisis in the west. His first act was to gather all the imprisoned leaders of the defeated party for a banquet before sending them back with a small fleet of airships, a not-so-small trove of gems and precious medals, and a writ signed in his own blood declaring that Griffiona and all of her allies were to recognize what is now called the West Griffionian federation as its own sovereign territory, the gesture earned h-”

Gilda banked left into a downwards spiral that ended with a hard landing, sending clouds of dust in the air. She snatched up Papyrus's tail. “Long story short, after Gavin kicked the bucket, he became the first statue to commemorate a dead guy in a thirty-something generation line of statues commemorating dead guys to pose with a swordless scabbard.” She pointed at Gavin’s limestone hip. “It symbolizes Griffonia's place as 'the great peace kindlier'. My house is two seconds away. Move your rumps.” She yanked Papyrus's tail, but only earned about an inch of backpedaling in the desired direction.

The mare in question simply arced her head back at Gilda. I don't have a tail so I wouldn't know how painful it was supposed to be, but the way she kept on smiling unfettered creeped me out a bit. “Gil, you've been reading your textbooks! I'm proud of you!”

Gilda groaned. “Can we just go? Please?”

FBatSLoM

Gilda, Norward, and I waved off Papyrus as she left the house with a heavy book balanced on her back, her form disappeared behind a corner on the mountain platform below us. As soon as he closed the door, Norward sighed, and Gilda rubbed at the sides of her head with something between a low groan and a growl.

I didn't quite understand, they acted like long term exposure to Papyrus was bad for their health; granted, it did take ten minutes to evict her, but still.

“So.” Norward stood on his back legs to grasp my shoulder. “Was that fun?”

“No.”

“Still think your dreaming?”

“No.”

“Gonna try jumping off of the roof again?”

“Only if you decide to eat me.”

Norward cocked his head to the side in mock-contemplation and pinched my forearm, stretching the skin a bit, I haven’t the slightest clue how he managed to do so without cutting me. “Nah, you probably don't have enough on you to make a decent meal. Besides, your much more useful as a tenant.”

Gilda opened and shut her beak multiple times, like she was not quite sure about the proper way to state her disapproval. For once, we held a common view.

I shook my head. “Thank you very much for the offer, but I don't have any way to pay rent.”

“He's right!” Gilda perked up, donning a hopeful grin. “And he can't fly, so if he sleepwalks out of the house, he'll die, besides, don't you have to babysit some dignitary soon?”

“Helping out with the chores is payment enough, if he sleepwalks at all, let alone that badly, we can chain him to the bed, and Duchess Gingerheart isn't due here for another four months, All six of our guest rooms are collecting dust in the meantime.”

Norward clasped his hands (?) together before allowing himself to fall back on four legs “You can start by helping out with breakfast. With the three of us, we might be able to get done before Amalia wakes up.”

Gilda seemed to deflate at that, giving a barely audible humph as she walked past us. She kept everything else to herself, I consider that progress.

The natives seemed to prefer walking on all fours, I was surprised that the house didn't have low door-frames and archways. The ones in my home were low enough for me to touch with my fingertips. The one between Norward's kitchen and living-room was too high to graze, even if I jumped. It’s like they expected a visit from a giant at any moment.

The kitchen looked surprisingly like a normal Earth kitchen. A gas-burning stove with six eyes nested snugly between a windowed wall and a counter-top with an embedded sink, they even had a modern fridge and microwave. The only alien objects in the room aside from the talking predators were the crystal lights which Norward turned on via a sliding switch on the wall.

I was quick to point the similarities to my own home out after Norward set Gilda to work with gathering silverware and handed me a bowl, a whisk, and some fist sized eggs.

“Is that so?” He asked, grabbing a short cooking knife and a slab of meat from some poor indistinguishable animal. “I don't know much about magic, but I do know that there aren't many coincidences in the field. The same thing that dumped you here might be slingshoting ideas between Gaia and... What's your planet called?”

“Earth.”

“As in: Earth-Pony?”

I rose an eyebrow at him

“I guess not.” Norward reached for a cutting board on a rack bolted to the wall before placing it and Mystery Meat X on the opposite side of the sink from me. He sliced it into strips that were about as fat as my thumb and twice as long.

Within half an hour or so we had four plates with an omelet, mixed fruits (all of which were native to Earth as well) and three strips of meat each, which Gilda identified as ridge tortoise.

Norward looked over the table with a nod. “Good work, and not a moment too soon.” Creaking floorboards heralded the arrival of griffon number three. “Morning, Amalia,” Norward said.

“Good morning, Papa.”

I know nothing of genetics, but the way her black fur and red head-feathers contrasted with that of her kin's struck me as odd. The half-Gilda sized bird-lion stretched her legs in the entryway, yawning with closed eyes. Phenotypical weirdness aside, she was a cute kid. Chick. Cub?

Norward brought out some cups and a wooden canteen containing what I guessed was cherry juice with something added to give it a tarty aftertaste from the fridge. Once we all got settled, I played twenty questions for the third time that day.

After the usual whos, whats, and wheres were resolved, there was a lull in the conversation, so I took a swig of my drink.

Amalia spoke up, “Were you looking for a special someone before you came here?”

“Nope, don't have one either. Why ask?”

Amalia put a claw to her beak to suppress a giggle. “Your hair,” She said, you look like a minotaur bachelor-ette

I coughed, launching a spurt of juice into my nose that left a tingling sensation on the way back down but, thankfully, didn't sputter or choke. “What?”

I couldn’t look that feminine could I? I looked at each griffin in turn, my expression must have given my question away; Gilda made a weird claw gesture that earned a chuckle from Amalia.

Norward sighed. “Minotaurs in the upper and middle class usually have their daughters cut their hair close to let other families know an arranged marriage is on the table. The tradition dates back before the Great Tribe was split into a couple hundred different sovereignties.”

“And,” Gilda cut in,“You're too slim to be a guy minotaur, you might actually be a sundress short of a Gresford's Cows model .”

Gilda and Amalia both stared at me, managing all of three seconds before they started laughing.

To be honest, it wasn't my most uncomfortable moment, that dubious honor went to my twelfth birthday, Devon, one of those blue bulb syringes people use for baby's noses, and an ungodly amount of wasabi. The fact that I still shy away from spicy foods explains enough.

If anything, the spot of humor opened the bird family up to a more nonsensical conversation path for the rest of breakfast. Hopefully the distance the topic stood away from “scary/weird alien hailing from the Sol system” was directly proportional to my distance from a vivisection table.

After the dishes were done, Norward sent Gilda off to escort Amalia to school. Leaving me to leaf through a history book I found in the living room on that Equestria place that took up a large section of Norward's map. It was ruled by a diarchy, hosted place-names that were rife with horse puns, and recently crowned a pretty purple pony princess as its ruler-in-waiting, she was apparently an authoritative voice on magic to boot. I sent up a silent thank you to the guy upstairs for not having me end up there; neither my sides or my sanity would have lasted long. I mean, seriously, Las Pegasus?

“Here.” Norward tossed a towel over my shoulder from behind. “Shower's downstairs, third door from the right. Yell if you need something.”

I turned around in time to see him disappear around a corner. I waited a few seconds to make sure he was gone before I performed a quick sniff check, confirming that I was, indeed, in need of a some self maintenance. I smelled like Devon after football practice.

FBatSLoM

If Guns Germs and Steel was to be believed, both the griffins and I had more than a little cause to be weary of whatever nasty bugs lived in and on our bodies. One sneeze, or cough, or drop of blood could turn into an ultra-deadly-dragon-pox-apathygenophagitis-flood-FEV-T-andromeda-bird flu-epidemic™. With that in mind, I set the water to a temperature that was probably one degree short of scalding, scrubing myself down vigorously with the liquid soap and wash rag provided to me, and then I scrubbed again.

I paused mid-rinse cycle. Something felt funny; not funny 'hee hee' but funny odd. A tingling kind of funny that spread about my arms, starting from my inner elbows and grew in power and territory until every bit of me itched and my arms started to burn. The only time I had a sensation moderately close to that was during my allergy test; the doctor had this plastic panel full of needles that he pressed into my skin, “There’s a tidbit of almost every common allergen in these,” he told me.

I looked down at my arms and wished that I hadn't. Little raised bumps dotted my skin, hives. I'd never contracted a severe case of them, even when I pet Oreo. Something would actually have to seep through my pores for it to get that bad.

Frowning, and with a pang of worry churning at my stomach, I summoned up all of my self restraint to not scratch my everything while I took a look at the soap bottle.

Ada's Improved Body-wash

Made with real phoenix down to revive and restructure dead/damaged skin or fur in an instant!

My eyes and nose tightened up.

I dropped the soap bottle with a thud, rinsed as much suds off of my body as I could, redressed, and made a beeline to the door.

By the time I reached Norward, my throat was clogged, every part of my body burned, I did the undead shuffle into his study with a groan. “Help," I croaked with an outstretched hand.

He looked down at me and gasped. “By The First, Charles! What happened to you?” He closed the book he was reading and scurried over. As soon as he got within leaping range I latched onto his forelimbs.

“Soap contained feather extract. Allergic. Hospital pleeeeeeas...” My hands slid down to Norward's wrists before he helped me to my feet.

Murphy never sleeps.

Author's Note

I know I should have released this chapter before Undertale came out.

In any case, here you are, you know the drill: if you have something nasty to say about my fic let loose upon me, I learn from and enjoy criticism in all of its forms.