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          Gilda & Big Mac’s Eggcellent Adventure           
                      -by Seether00-                       
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    Chapter 1: Beauty Is in the Eye of the Beer Holder     
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Chapter 1: Beauty Is in the Eye of the Beer Holder
Like most bad ideas throughout history, this one was born of a single beer. The beer would deny this, of course, placing blame entirely on the shots that followed, consisting of whiskey, vermouth, gin, schnapps, and some of that blue bottle behind the bar. The barkeep had never quite figured out what exactly it contained, only that it made for excellent brass polish. Suffice it to say, the amount of alcohol that had been consumed would have been enough to put most stallions under the table and into a coma.
However, Big Macintosh wasn't most stallions. He was, at most, pleasantly buzzed. Not that he drank too often. Applejack and Granny Smith frowned on that sort of thing, and that was part of the reason they weren't here.
Every year, the Equestrian Growers Association held its annual convention in Las Pegasus. Granny called the city, the convention, and that whole end of Equestria a 'Den of Sin and In-ekkity.' Applejack's phrase was a bit more colorful. Big Mac didn't mind; sometimes a stallion needed time away from the mares in his life.
Eeyup, a solo trip had its perks. Meant he got to do things Applejack and Granny disapproved of, like hanging out at a bar with his favorite cousin. A wise stallion once said, 'Only drink with your true buddies. 'Cause only a true, true friend holds your mane outta your eyes while you worship at the altar of the porcelain god,' and there was no better buddy in Big Mac's book than Braeburn Apple.
"Viva Las Pegasus, cuz!" Braeburn raised his glass in the general direction of his lips, or at least tried.
"Eeyup." Big Mac clinked his tumbler against his cousin's.
Granny always said Braeburn was a bad influence. For the life of him, Big Mac couldn't figure out the reason why. Sure they stole a few pies, let out the sheep, and almost broke all their legs carting down a hill—normal coltish mischief when they were young'uns, but it's not like they ever been arrested. At least, not yet.
Braeburn polished off his bourbon—he always ordered bourbon just because he thought it sounded funny—and signalled for another before turning to his larger cousin with his usual affable smile on his face. "You ready for the night's challenge, cuz?"
Big Mac smiled back. Oh yes, the challenge. Something Granny and AJ would really disapprove of.
Now, back in Ponyville, Big Macintosh was known as a strong, silent stallion with bit of a shy streak when it came to the opposite sex. But here, thanks to Mister Whiskey, he looked around the bar and liked what he saw: a veritable smorgasbord of pretty mares just waiting to be swept off their hooves by two strapping stallions.
Too bad it had become so easy. Hungry eyes had locked onto them both from the moment they'd entered the door, and they knew it. Braeburn, a devilishly handsome cowpony through and through, possessed roguish good looks, a flamboyant nature, and a hundred-watt smile bright enough to melt even the iciest mare's heart.
Perched next to him, hewn from living marble, Big Mac's chiseled physique and deep, soulful eyes tempted mares of all stripes to try a taste of Apple at least once. Maybe twice. Shoot, even mares whose door swung the other way tended to stop and ask if there were any mares like him back home on the farm. (He may or may not have given a few of them his sister's business card).
So, to make the night more interesting, one stallion would select a mare for the other to try and pick up by the end of the night, and tonight it was Braeburn's turn to choose.
The larger stallion wasn't worried in the least. It went without saying that Big Mac had never lost.
Not that they were creeps about it. Heavens no. They were Apple stallions. And Apple stallions were raised to be gentlecolts. There were strict rules: Singles only. Be upfront about how this was a one time thing. Even if everypony knew what happens in Las Pegasus stays in Las Pegasus.
If the nudge Big Mac felt to his side was any indication, it appeared Braeburn had finally made his selection. "How do you feel 'bout somethin' different there, cuz? Like say…. That one over there?"
Big Mac followed his cousin's wavering hoof—or tried to, at least, the way it kept bouncing from one awful choice to the next. A mare old enough to be Granny's sister, a pegasus caked with so much makeup Mac was pretty sure she was a stallion, then an actual stallion.
A light punch to Braeburn's shoulder put a stop to the meandering hoof, and now it pointed toward a lone griffon nursing her beer quietly in the back. A small collection of empty shot glass forming a pyramid at her side appeared to be her only company, and the bar's other patrons were conspicuously absent from the surrounding tables. Mac didn't have much if any experience with members of Equestria's oldest ally, so he didn't know what they'd consider attractive, but he had to admit she held an exotic appeal.
Sleek, well built. Beefier than what he usually went for. Frankly, he liked his mares soft and cuddly. Too much hard muscle, and it felt like hugging Applejack. Big Mac's skin crawled at the mere thought.
Downing another shot, he let his eyes trail over the griffon's tight body. He had to admit her curves were in all the right places. Kinda reminded him of Rainbow Dash in a way, clearly athletic, but in a heavier way than the speedy pegasus.
As he admired her form—especially the way her thigh muscles twitched—Mac heard Braeburn call the bartender over. The greying unicorn sprouted a magnificent handlebar mustache from his upper lip. A cleaning rag drying a glass trailed in his magic. Big Mac wondered what he'd look like with facial hair like that. Probably even more rugged.
"So… What's the word on that griffon over yonder?" Braeburn inquired in a hushed voice, leaning forward with a badly suppressed grin.
"Who, Gilda? She's a regular. Works as a bouncer at some of the clubs around here—wait." The rag ceased wiping the glass, and he fixed the stallions with a frown. "You're not thinking of…" His mustache quivered in an almost hypnotic fashion. "Let me offer you young gentlecolts a piece of advice. Best leave that bird alone. Got a real bad attitude and a mean streak a mile wide. Last guy who tried to get fresh with her left with a couple of broken bones. And between you and me," he leaned down, voiced lowered, "lately, she's been… How can I say this? Broody."
Braeburn chuckled. "Now, now. Ain't a mare alive, or hen… or whatever it is they call a girl griffon, that can my cousin can't wrangle. Unless she's already an Apple, that is. Right, cuz?"
Now, Big Macintosh was a stallion of good common sense. He could smell an ill notion a mile away. Living in a town like Ponyville tended to instill that virtue in a pony, and now his common sense was screaming at him to heed the old bartender's wisdom. Well, that and any idea that had Braeburn this excited was sure to end with broken bones or worse.
Mister Whiskey, however, said, "Eeyup." A night of exotic fun with a griffon sounded like the best idea ever in the history of ideas, and Mister Whiskey knew good ideas. He was a genius.
The bartender just shook his head with a precautionary, "Your funeral then, sir," before leaving to serve more sane patrons.
With a snort, Big Mac stepped down from his stool. "Hold my drink, Braeburn. Watch and learn." That barkeep didn't know what he was on about. Big Mac had this.
Swaggering through the bar crowd, he grabbed a glass of water from a passing waitress, and placing it in front of his quarry, he sat down. Big Mac propped his chin on one hoof and shot her his best line, "Hey there, beautiful. Thought you could use this here glass o' water on account of you being so hot."
Big Mac waggled his eyebrows and waited for the griffon to melt into his hooves.
Gilda looked up from her beer and blinked. Once. Twice. "What?"
"Just saying a big girl like you must have a healthy appetite. How 'bout I treat you to dinner. You look mighty hungry."
Her beak clicked once. "Dude—" her talons cut parallel grooves across the table "—did you just call me fat? Do you have some sort of death wish?"
At this point, Sergeant Common Sense noted, "Hey, those claws look mighty sharp," and started waving its arms in the air, signaling a strategic withdrawal. Good thing Generalissimo-Doctor Whiskey, Ph.d was in command and didn't cotton to cowardice. Besides, looking over at the bar, Braeburn already had two cute mares hanging off him, twins. Can't return empty-hooved now. Next shot, fire!
"Darlin', if angels look like you, then maybe."
For a brief instant, he thought he'd scored a hit. Her left eye twitched and she lifted a claw only to drag it slowly down her face.
"Look, Red. Even if I was into ponies, which, just so you know, I'm not." Her beak turned up into a smirk—an impressive feat for a species without lips—and she leaned towards him allowing him a good look at her powerful arms and thick chest. "You wouldn't be able to handle this."
His own grin followed. Matching her movements, he place his own forelimb on the table, a light flex making the thick cords of muscles dance under his fine coat. "Little lady, you'd be surprised at how much I can handle."
Her beak was inches away from his face now. "Red, I eat ponies like you for breakfast." Her breath smelled of cheap beer and intimidation.
His grin didn't falter. "Then it's a good thing I'm here. 'Cause, like I told ya, you look mighty hungry."
A pause. Then she fell back in laughter. It was deep, from the belly; though it sounded more like a squawk to his ears. "Okay, Red, you made me laugh." She fixed him with an almost friendly expression after wiping a tear. "Not many ponies can do that so I'm gonna do you a solid by letting you walk outta here with all your legs intact." Her beak returned again, inches from his muzzle as her voice lowered to a rumble; the lion half of her he guessed. "You don't want to mess with me, little colt. Mine are bigger than yours."
There was only one possible answer to that. "Prove it."
Another pause, and her eye twitched again. Gilda scowled at his smirking face. "Okay, big boy. Let's see if you can back up that big mouth of yours," she growled, stretching a sinewy arm on the table. "Arm wrestling. You win," she scoffed as she said it, "then, yeah, I'll go out with ya. I win, you get outta my face."
It took all his willpower to keep from laughing as he agreed to her terms. Yeah, her arms were impressive. Brawny, with powerful looking biceps, but he was Big Macintosh Apple. And Big Macintosh Apple had limbs like a hydraulic press. But again, he was raised a gentlecolt. It wouldn't do to just slam her wrist down to the table right away. Nah, better to let her win at first. Draw it out and make her look good, so as not to hurt her pride. Just let it go back and forth for a bit, then finish her off. He'd had lots of practice doing this sorta thing with Applejack when they were younger, so he was pretty good at it.
Not that he'd ever tell AJ that.
It should be noted that this was all President Whiskey's plan. Vice-President Common Sense had submitted an angry letter of resignation, embezzled the treasury, and fled the country by this point.
It didn't take long for their table to be cleared. The spectacle attracted quite a crowd as they set up their arms. Braeburn, twins still hanging off of him, hooted and hollered, riling up the onlookers. Big Mac saw money change hooves. It wouldn't be Las Pegasus if that didn't happen. He hoped they bet on red.
Arms locked, his pastern gripped her claw. He keep his expression neutral as he flexed his bicep—a little show for the mares in the audience. By the oohs and ahhs, they liked what they saw. His opponent, in contrast, didn't look too impressed. Her own bicep swelled in retort.
"Better watch out, cuz!" hooted Braeburn. "Looks like the little lady's firin' back with guns of her own!"
The mustachioed barkeep acted as the referee. "Alright, you both know the rules. On the count of three, first hoof or talon that touches the table loses. One… Two… Three!"
Almost immediately, Big Macintosh's plan flew out the barroom window. She'd have slammed his hoof clear through the table within the first second if hadn't pushed back just in time.
Gilda sent him an arrogant smirk, and his own smile dropped into a thin line. This girl was no joke. There was power under those feathers.
Looked like he couldn't afford to play games this time. A puff exited his nostrils.
Serious it was then.
He grit his teeth and bore down, Slowly, slowly, he fought her arm down towards the table. He shot back a smug grin of his own until, with a low growl, she forced his arm back to start.
Several minutes went by, and Macintosh was getting frustrated. He just couldn't get the pendulum of victory to swing all the way in his favor. Each time he came close to a pin, the griffon would dig deep, finding something to battle back, then all of a sudden he'd be the one on the defensive.
By all rights, he should have won ages ago. He blamed the alcohol in his system; it made him sluggish. Mister Whiskey had turned traitor. Sweat beaded his forehead, trickling down his back.
His ears dropped flat against his skull as the crowd grew louder with each reversal of fortune. A brief glance showed the griffon wasn't faring any better, beak clamped shut in a tight grimace.
Their arms rippled and bulged against each other, but for the last minute hadn't budged.
His arm was getting tired, but he bet so was her's. His easy smile returned. He just needed to last, and he was sure he had more stamina in the tank than her. Maybe he would have lasted, but for the brief predatory glint he noticed in her eye.
He felt her talons flex.
Shink!
"Ouch!"
Slam!
And just like that, he'd lost. Sure, she cheated, but nopony appeared to have noticed. Didn't matter to his pride in any case. However it happened, the point was that for the first time in years, he, Big Macintosh Apple, had lost a hoof… that was an arm… well, a wrestling match.
Show finished, the crowd quickly dispersed, returning to their own tables and conversations, leaving behind the large stallion to nurse his wounded pride along with an achy shoulder. At least, the claw marks on his hoof hadn't broken the skin so he wasn't bleeding.
He saw Braeburn waving to him from the bar, a consolation beer next an empty stool. Maybe Big Mac could still salvage this night by chatting up one of the pretty things hanging off his cousin's neck. But as he made to leave, something powerful gripped his tail and dragged him back to the table.
"And just where do you think you're going, big boy?" a husky voice blew in his ear.
"A bet's a bet, ma'am. And I lost, so I'll be gettin' outta your feathers."
"Now hold on, Red." Gilda slunk around the stallion, rubbing against his solid barrel.
He caught her scent: sweat mixed with… something else.
"You almost beat me, and I don't lose. Ever. But don't feel too bad. You put up way better a fight than the wimps I usually get stuck with." She brandished her claws, chuckling darkly as she gave them a wiggle. "Yeah, one look at these babies, and they piss themselves.
"Not like you though, Red. You've got guts. I like that in a guy. Besides..." A sharp talon traced the deep contours of his chest as she sinuously flowed behind him, the short feathers of her chest brushing the nape of his neck. "That workout made me... hungry," she purred, "and I remember you promising me dinner. I'm thinking we go back to my place."
He felt a nibble on his ear. The touch of her beak felt unique, but not unpleasant. She certainly looked different. Gone was the perpetual scowl replaced by soft, flushed cheeks, and… Did she just lick her beak? "Err… What's gonna be on the menu?"
A low rumble. "...You."
Common Sense attempted to return with a warning, but was stranded on the other side of a raging river of hormones (and booze), settling for simply waving red flags frantically from the opposite shore while Mister Whiskey was trying to figure out just how Tab A would fit into Slot B, just in case.
He shuddered in excitement, and waved to his cousin as he was dragged out of the bar.
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"I came as soon as I could, doc. How's my brother? Is he okay?"
"Well, baby doll, honey child," the doctor told Applejack after looking up from the chart. "Your bro is chilling right now, but when he was dropped off at our little shack, he was all shook up. Yeah-huh-uh."
Applejack squinted at oddly dressed physician. She had arrived at the hospital expecting to talk to a pony dressed in a lab coat, not a spangle-covered jumpsuit and cape. And was that pompadour perched on his head a wig? And what was with the fake antlers poking out of it? "What was your name again, pardner?"
"Love, baby. Doctor Burning Love. Licensed physician specializing in broken hearts. Oh yeah." The doctor struck a poise, hoof pointed towards the opposite wall.
Oh yeah, this was Las Pegasus. It made perfect sense for a doctor to be an Elkvis impersonator. "How...er… How bad we talkin'?" Applejack asked the gyrating pair of hips and rhinestones.
He flipped a page (and his hair, of course). "Let's see here: Multiple shallow lacerations covering his chest and back. Contusions and bite marks running the length of his neck. A dislocated shoulder, along with a broken forearm, and what looks to be a fractured pelvis. Frankly, little mama, the boy looks like he lost a fight with an amorous manticore. A night of a little too much shake, rattle, and roll, if you get my meaning. Ha-cha!"
"...Right." Applejack backed away from the weirdo slowly. "I'm just gonna mosey along now and take a gander for myself, thank ya kindly."
When she entered her brother's room, Applejack found him laying in bed, all bandaged up like a trussed up rodeo calf. So she did what any loving Apple-mare would do. She walked up to her brother, took off her hat, and proceeded to smack the darned fool grin off the lummox's face.
"Ya durn ijit!" Her stenson met his face again and again. "What did Granny always tell you 'bout drinkin'? Now I gotta make up for all the lost chores around the farm that you ain't gonna be able to do. If you weren't already laid up, I'd tan your hide myself! And you!" She spun on her fool cousin sitting quietly in the room's only chair.
He waved a meek hoof at her as the Angry Stetson of Discipline bore down on him. "Howdy there, cousin. Fancy meetin' you here."
"Don't you 'Howdy' me, Braeburn Apple!" she scolded while administering the same righteous punishment to the top of his head. It was too little or no good; Braeburn could easily buck apples using his noggin instead of his hooves. Heck, it would probably make him smarter. "Where the crabapples were you while your cousin was being shoved through a hay baler?"
Braeburn rubbed the back of his neck. "Well… Ya see, cuz. I kinda had my hooves full at the time."
She snorted. "Yeah, I bet they were. Probably full of some mare's rump, if I reckon correctly."
"Twins actually.Ow! I'd thank ya kindly to quit hitting me, Cousin AJ. Ow! They were twins, twins! Ow! I really didn't have a choice. Ow! Ow! Cousin Macintosh understands. It's Rule twenty-nine of the Stallion Code!"
"Eeyup." Her idiot brother nodded.
Applejack wasn't a stallion, however, so the sacredness of the code meant nothing to her. "You two really are thick-skulled ijits, ain't ya?! And don't think for second, Braeburn, that just 'cause you're a grown stallion that Granny won't set you over her knee the next time she sees ya!" She marched right up to her brother's bedside.
"And as for you, Big Macintosh Apple. What do you have to say for yourself? I darn well hope whatever debauchery you got up to with yer ladyfriend was worth lookin' like you got stampeded by an entire herd of buffalo. Well? Was it worth it?"
That darn smile came back, stretching from ear to ear and making those big green eyes twinkle like stars. "Eeyup."
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ThreeMonthsLater
Apple Bloom answered a knock at the front door and found a large griffon with an overstuffed backpack strapped between her wings waiting on the other side.
"Yo," greeted the griffon, raising a hesitant claw. "Err… this Sweet Apple Acres?"
"Yessiree, that's what it says on the sign out front," Apple Bloom beamed. "You here lookin' for some apples, stranger?"
A crooked grin formed on her beak. "Yeah... you could say that. I'm looking for a Macintosh Apple," she said, reading off what Apple Bloom recognized as one of her brother's business cards—"Big, red, and juicy" written in bold letters.
"Sure! Just wait here, and I'll get him."
Closing the door, she hollered for her brother so loudly it echoed throughout the house, luring out the entire Apple household to inquire what all the ruckus was about.
"A griffon's here askin' for Big Mac," Apple Bloom told them.
"A griffon?" repeated Applejack, raising an eyebrow. "What's a griffon got business with you for, Mac?"
He shrugged and opened the door, then stopped. "G-gilda?" he stuttered. "Umm… What are you doin' here?"
"Hey there to you, too, Red." She smiled at him as she unhooked her cargo from her back. "Thought I'd drop by. Kinda got something here... we could sorta say you left behind at my place."
His mouth gaped wide open, his usual stalk of wheat falling to the ground as he backpedalled at the sight in front of him. Didn't get anywhere though. Not with his family boxing him in as they craned for a look at the watermelon-sized thing.
Held in her claws was an enormous egg. A shiny, red-speckled egg.
"Congratulations, Dad."

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              Chapter 2: Walking on Eggshells              
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Chapter 2: Walking on Eggshells
"This is a fine mess you've gotten yourself into, Big Macintosh Apple!" For the third time, Applejack's hat angrily smacked her brother upside his thick head. Maybe, the big lummox would finally gain an ounce of sense, but she doubted it.
Applejack liked to think of herself as the level-headed one, the practical member of her circle of friends, the mare who cut through all the crazy with sage advice and country wisdom.
But even she had her limits.
After taking one look at the griffon and her absurdly hued egg, the mare had dragged Macintosh upstairs by his ear. At first she hadn't been able to form coherent words, stomping around her cowering brother spouting "You–", "Why–" and "Uggh–" Then came the swearing, language so hot and foul Applejack half-expected her brother's ears to ignite and fall to the floor in twin piles of shame-filled ash.
Finally she had to stop, if only to catch her breath. "Well," she gasped, "go on. What have you got to say for yerself?"
Big Mac mumbled something into the floor.
"I'm sorry, I didn't quite hear that. I must have applesauce cloggin' my ears, or on account of you whimperin’ like a little foal."
"I-I was drunk," he muttered.
She scowled at him. "Care to repeat that?"
"I… I was drunk, AJ."
Applejack throw up her hooves in the air. "Oh! You were drunk? Well that excuses everythin’, now don't it? I better watch the hooch when Celestia comes to town, or we're gonna wind up with one really odd family reunion next year! How could you let this happen?"
"T'weren't my fault." He lifted his head to defend himself. "Wasn't even heat season at the time. You know I'm more careful than that."
"Dagnabit, Mac! This just ain't the Apple Way, and you know it! Gettin' liquored up and and dancin’ The Dirty Do-si-do with a griffon! Now who's gonna tend the fields when we're old?!"
"Umm... the kid?"
"What? A flighty cloudhopper? It'd be like handing the farm over to Dash!"
Her brother frowned. "That's kinda racist talk, AJ."
"Racist?" She flushed in outrage at the completely unwarranted accusation. "Of all the... I ain't never..." Her mouth worked up and down a few more times before she deflated. "Yeah… I reckon you're right, but this ain't the plan. We're supposed to meet nice ponies, have kids, and they inherit the farm."
"Your plan, you mean, AJ."
"Somepony has to think of the farm, Mac! May as well be me! Ponyfeathers, even if you didn't get hitched with a pony I'd be fine with your choice, I guess." She shook her head in disbelief at her brother's taste in bedmates. "But Gilda? Really? That griffon's ten pounds of trouble in a two pound bag. Got all the manners of an ornery skunk with the temper of a ticked-off rattlesnake to boot. Didn't I tell you what happened the last time she was here?"
"You can't expect me to remember every little incident with your friends, AJ. I got my own life. I hadn't even met the girl 'til that night at the bar." He let out of heavy sigh. "'Sides, I weren't thinkin' with my head at the time."
That got a snort. "You were thinkin' with your head all right," she scoffed. "Just not the one holdin' your common sense." Applejack turned away with a click of her tongue. "Now I got clean up your mess. No brother of mine gettin' roped into a shotgun marriage with the likes of her. Uh-uh, no way."
"But, AJ—"
"Up-up," Applejack raised a hoof, forestalling any argument. "I don't wanna hear it, Macintosh. Now you just keep your trap shut and follow my lead."
When they returned to the living room, the egg-carrier had transformed into a makeshift nest on the floor, Gilda resting comfortably on top of the egg. Granny Smith rocked in her rocking chair, looking please as punch. Apple Bloom had arrived from the kitchen with a mug of cider and was in a deep discussion with their 'guest.'
"So you're a griffon. That's pretty neat."
Gilda took a gulp of her cider. "Coolest species on the planet, sprout."
"So…" Apple Bloom inquired, gesturing to the egg sitting comfortably on a warming cushion under its mother. "Is it a filly or a colt?".
"Won't know until it hatches, and we call them cubs or chicks."
"Huh... does this mean I'm an aunt now?"
Gilda shrugged her wings. "Looks like it, kid."
"Hmm… I wonder what an aunt cutie mark would look like."
"Couldn't tell you. Griffons don't get cutie marks. Some of us do get tattoos though. That's pretty much the same thing, but better 'cause you get to decide what it looks like for yourself."
Apple Bloom rubbed her chin. "A tattoo, huh..."
Applejack hardly spared her a glance as she marched right up to the griffon. She was going to nip this whole situation right in the bud.
"Now listen here, Gilda. I apologize for Macintosh's behavior, but you ain't gonna marry him. We'll take care of Big Mac's child as a family," she stated firmly, wrapping one arm around her brother's broad shoulders and pulling Apple Bloom close with the other.
Gilda glanced at the assembled family portrait for a moment then jumped to her paws with growl. "Oh, so that's what's going on here, huh? And here I thought you were a stand-up guy. Guess I was wrong… like always." she snarled at Big Macintosh. "Now I've got to slice you open."
Applejack jumped in front of her brother, who'd turned white. "Woah there! What the Sam Hill are you on about?"
"Sorry, Freckles. It's a Griffon thing. We kinda take the whole mating for life thing real seriously. A husband cheating on his wife is a big no-no. But lucky us, now we get to split the sorry sucker between us and leave the rest for the vultures." Her talons extended with a loud shink.
"So," Gilda wore a savage grin, "Which half you want? Heads or tails?"
Big Mac's jaw flapped open like a barn door, but Applejack's eyes just about popped clear out of her head. "What?"
Talons stayed out for a moment then retracted as Gilda laughed. "Of course not, you dweebs! Geez, the look on your faces!" Gilda wiped away a tear. "By the Cat Mother, you ponies don't know jack about us. We stopped doing that sort of thing ourselves ages ago." Then she turned to the still white-faced stallion, all mirth dropping from her voice. "I'm still pissed you used me to cheat on your wife, Red." The talons came back out. "So I'm takin' back that solid I did ya last time we met. Which leg do you want broken? I'll even let you choose. Front, back, left, right. Whatever's good for you."
"Now, now," came Granny's drawl from her rocking chair. "Everypony just calm your breeches. No need to dirty up my floor. Blood stains are darned hard to clean and all. Now, Miss Gilda, don't mind my granddaughter. Truth is Big Mac and Applejack are brother and sister."
Gilda raised an eyebrow. "...Wow." She took a step back and looked between them and Apple Bloom. "Umm... I mean I knew this town was backwoods, but… just wow."
Words failed Applejack. Although her jaw was working as if she were talking, she was absolutely silent except for the steam coming out of her ears.
Her grandmother, however, was taking events far more humorously than either of her grandchildren, and rolled her eyes at the comment. "Land sakes, we ain't that countrified! Now you young'uns play nice. I got to write ol' cousin Apple Rose. Looks I get to brag about me landing a great-grandchild first. Boy howdy, she's gonna be more jealous than the last pig at the trough at sloppin' time!"
A heavy stomp, and Applejack put a stop to her granny's foolishness. "Wait an apple-pickin' minute! This here's the griffon that put Mac in the hospital! We ain't heard a peep from her once durin' all that time, or the time after. Now she just waltzes in here and turns our whole life upside-down without so much as a how do you do, and you're just gonna sit there and accept it?" She snorted and fixed Gilda with a fierce glare. "We only got your word that's Mac's egg. And we both know how much your word is worth 'round here."
Faster than she could blink, Gilda was butting heads with her, the griffon's talons at her neck.
"You calling me a slu-" Gilda glanced at the filly in the room and seemed to bite back what she wanted to say. "You know what?" She backed off, claws retracted. "You're not worth it. I did what I came here to do. I'm outta here."
Gilda secured her precious cargo onto her back, turned around, "I knew I shouldn't have wasted my time coming here! Tch, you ponies really are all the same," and slammed the door shut on her way out.
It took a moment for Big Mac to wake up and charge after her, calling for Gilda to wait.
"Welp. Good riddance to bad rubbish." Applejack nodded, picking up a stray feather and tossing it into a wastepaper basket.
"Applejack Tangerine Apple." Granny's voice froze her granddaughter to the spot. "Apple Bloom, go play with your friends. Me and your sister need to have a… discussion."
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        "Gilda, wait!" She was crouched for takeoff when his voice reached him.
        "We don't really have anything to talk about, Red."
        He stopped in front of her before she could get airborne and remained blocking her path as she shifted her weight from side to side. "Look, I'm sorry 'bout my sister. She just gets real crazy sometimes when it comes to family. Just give me a chance to talk to you," he pleaded.
        She considered just taking off, but his quivering snout looked so pathetic that she decided to give him one chance. "Talk fast," she said with a sigh.
"Err…" Big Mac opened and closed his mouth several times, reminding Gilda of freshly caught trout. His hooves nervously twinned around each other. "Uh, well… H-how you been?"
        "Pregnant. You try pushing a watermelon through a keyhole. That's how I've been!" She scowled. "I was bowlegged for a week after that."
        Macintosh looked briefly at the sky then took a deep breath before speaking again. "Look, Gilda. Again, I'm real sorry for the way AJ acted."
        She shrugged. "No skin off my beak, dude. Not the first time a pony's treated me like crap, and it won't be the last."
        "Can I ask you a question?" He got a nod. "How about we get married?"
        Gilda pursed her beak. "Alright, that really wasn't what I expected," she admitted, scratching the back of her neck. She let out surprised chirp when he took a knee and grasped her claws in his hooves.
        "Gilda, I want to do the right thing here. I want to be there for you and our kid. If you stay, I can support us. I give you my word as an Apple, and no true Apple breaks their word.
        She felt her cheeks heat up, probably the warmth from the his hooves. It felt comfortable... Gilda abruptly pulled away, shaking her head sadly. "D-dude… Err… Listen, it's cool you want to do the right thing...really cool," she muttered under her breath. "But it would never work out. Griffons mate for life, and a kid really isn't the best reason to get hitched. Our language didn't even have a word for divorce until we met you ponies." She hesitated, but then offered a comforting, if uncertain, pat on his shoulder. "I-I'm sorry, Red."
        He shrugged off her touch and just stared at her. "So that's it? You come all the way here, tell me I'm a father, then just go back to the Griffon Kingdom, and I never get to see my kid? What was the darned point of even telling me then?!"
        She sighed again at his droopy ears. Ponies could rip your heart out using nothing but their eyes sometimes. That's how they got to you. "Listen, I don't exactly have a rep for doing the right thing all the time, but even I know you at least got a right to know if you've got a kid out there. I didn't mean for this to happen."
        "Then why did you get together with me if you knew you were in season?" he shouted.
        "Dude, why do you think I was in Las Pegasus?" she shot back. "Answer: Duh, next to no griffons hangout there, and I told you, I'm not into ponies. Normally."
The stallion just rolled his eyes. "You didn't seem to mind when you dragged me back to your place," he snorted.
"Maybe you shouldn't have sent me all right signals!"
"Signals?"
Now it was her turn to roll her eyes. "How do you ponies make it through the day without getting eaten? You guys never know anything! One," she counted off on her talons, "You didn't back down when I got my claws out. Two: You challenged me to a fight. Three: You almost won."
"Only 'cause you cheated," he huffed.
"Oh, get over it, Red. If you aren't cheating, you're not trying. It doesn't matter anyway. You're little gutsy show was enough strike my match. You try that back home, and you'd be swarmed, stud. A guy doesn't have to win, he just has to prove he's tough enough to survive. Besides, the chances of a pony and griffon knocking the other up without magic is like one in a thousand." That flirty smirk came back. "Either that or you've got some powerful swimmers."
Big Macintosh stood up. "You sure there's nothing I can say to make you change your mind 'bout staying?"
She answered with a shake of her head, "I'm sorry, Red. I know I don't look like a girl who's into all that mushy romance garbage, but… Yeah, I don't want to be with someone who's only around because he thinks he has to be."
"You want someone who wants to be with you."
Gilda smiled. Maybe he did get it. After all, Gilda had figured out that nobody fit that impossible criteria years ago. "Yeah, pretty much."
"I could learn," he offered, his body leaning closer and placing a hoof on her shoulder.
She looked into his eyes, so green, so earnest. She could smell his breath. Fresh mint. Her mind flashed back to that last night… She abruptly shoved him away to land on his behind. "No! Look, dude. It's not gonna happen. I'll send you some pictures after the kid hatches."
 Seeing her get ready to launch again, he scrambled to his hooves. "Wait! Just one last favor, then I'll let you go."
She took a moment to think about it. "...Fine. But it better be quick."
"It'll be fast," he assured her. "I just want us to visit my parents so they can meet their grandchild at least once. They’re just on the other side of the orchard," he said, trotting off. After a moment, she checked her straps and strolled after him.
If the stallion expected the winding path through the trees to tire Gilda out and force her to stay the night, he was going to be disappointed. Even for a hen who'd just dropped a watermelon of an egg, she was in excellent shape. In fact, she wished he would hurry up. It felt like every few steps, Mac would stop and point out some feature of the orchard he was so proud of.
Having spent most of her time in cities, Gilda found herself a little unnerved by the placid calm of Sweet Apple Acres. She'd spent most of her time surrounded by the hustle and bustle of busy griffon eyries or crowded pony taverns. Here, surrounded by the warm, crisp scent of ripening apples that was carried on the fall breeze, the stillness seemed oppressive.
When they arrived in the clearing, she had expected to find a small cottage or something. Not for the farmer to walk up and start talking to a pair of large apple trees.
"Ma. Pa. It's me, Macintosh. I want to introduce you to Gilda. Gilda, this here's my ma and pa."
"By the skies, I slept with a nutjob this time," Gilda muttered while she watched the stallion rub the trees lovingly. Plastering on a glass smile, she slowly backed away. "Well, nice meeting your, um... 'parents', Red, but I've got a thermal to catch, so—"
"You mind at least showing some respect at my parents' grave?" That stopped her short. He gestured to the plaques mounted on each trunk. Each was marked with a name and dates. "It's what they wanted. To be part of the orchard. So we planted the trees where we buried 'em. Not usually a good idea to plant trees so close together, but Ma and Pa seem fine."
He was right. Gilda hadn't noticed before, but the old trees seemed to be growing into each other. Branches conjoined, and roots intertwined like lovers on a fall evening.
Gilda was the least romantic person that she knew, but right now she felt like an intruder peeking in on a private moment.
"Do me a favor and just put down the egg for a sec," he said. As she undid the backpack and placed the egg in a divot that he pointed out among the roots, an apple fell on her head. "Looks like they like you," he quipped, a shy grin hidden behind a large hoof.
She scowled and picked up the offending piece of fruit. She didn't know what type of apple, but it was huge, with streaks of yellow breaking up the red skin. Gilda inspected it for blemishes or any bonus worms(worms were good eating) before tearing into its flesh. Immediately, sweet-tart juice flooded her beak. So much, some dripped onto the ground. In seconds, it disappeared down her gullet, seeds and all, leaving her claws and beak sticky.
"Dude! That was the best apple I've ever tasted… What are you doing?"
Eyes shut, the earth pony stood on his hindlegs with his front hooves pressed against the shared roots surrounding the egg.
Macintosh breathed out heavily, sweaty, and offered a tired smile. "It's an Apple all right."
She sniffed derisively. "You thought I was lying too, huh? Figures."
He shook his head. "Eenope."
Earth pony magic. She'd heard of it, but it was the first she'd ever seen it in person, and her respect for the farmer went up a notch.
"I was only a colt when they died. Apple Bloom was just a baby, and Applejack is only a few years younger than me, so I knew 'em the longest. Granny did her best, but it was hard." He kept her back to her, and she watched as he drew a line down the bark of his father's trunk.
Father? Oh, Niflheim! The crazy is contagious. Time to say my goodbyes.
"Red…"
He turned around, and her heart caught in her throat at the trail of tears watering the trees. "I don't want my kid to go through what I did. I want them to know both their ma and pa. I want to hold them, teach them value of the soil. It don't matter to me if they got wings or not." He went down to his knees. "Just give me a chance to prove we can work."
Gilda couldn't help but stare at him. Was this really the tough as brick pony who'd fought her to standstill? This whimpering sack of tears? It was pathetic. She wasn't prone to guilt, but if she simply left him here, she had a feeling his morose face would haunt her. And bringing her to his parents' grave? That was just plain cheating! Oh. Right. Damned if he didn't learn fast.
Finally, she had enough, and, hauling him back upright by his shoulders, she acquiesced. "Okay, okay! Geez, stop your bawling, dweeb! You're getting my feathers wet. I'll stay for a while, alright?"
He looked up, a sliver of hope entered his voice. "You will?"
She held up a claw. "Look, in about a month and a half, I got a gig in Manehatten. I was gonna drop the egg off at my parents until it was over, then go back to finish the hatching. Instead, I guess I could hang around here."
"That's not a lot of time," he grumbled
"Well, too bad. That's all you're getting," she said with a shrug. "I'm warning you now, though. I'm more than you can handle, Red. And don't get any funny ideas. I'd hate to put you in the hospital again." A warm hoof clasped her claw again. He wore a confident smile, and that damned dangerous sparkle was back in his eyes.
"If we can be a family, I'll take my chances," he said. Her cheeks reddened as he let go. "You weren't serious before about eating me, right?"
"Don't be stupid. We don't eat ponies anymore. That's barbaric! We have lawyers for that kind of thing now."
"And that's less barbaric?"
"Totally. They take care of the eating for us," she said as she strapped the egg back in place. "I don't think your sis is going to be too keen on me staying here, and I didn't exactly bring enough bits to pay for a hotel."
"Don't worry 'bout AJ. I'll take care of her."
Gilda smirked, flexing her talons. "I didn't say I was worried about her, more for her."
"Just let me talk to her," Big Mac said quickly. "She's got a lot of friends and it'd go easier for us if you were nice to her."
She just rolled her eyes. "Don't know if you haven't noticed, Red, but I don't do nice. When ponies find out we're dating, I doubt it's gonna be pretty."
He sniffed. "Don't you worry your pretty head about that, beautiful. I've lived in Ponyville my whole life. All we got to do is be careful and only tell folks we trust. Let the news trickle out nice and slow. As long as the whole town don't find out all at once, we'll be fine." He wrapped a reassuring leg around her neck. "Trust me."
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"Here's your coffee, Cheerilee! Vanilla, two sugars and a touch of cream. Just the way you like it! And a strawberry danish!" Pinkie said, passing over the pastry and cardboard cup to the teacher. "And where are you off to on this fine fall Friday?"
Cheerilee took a sip of her coffee and smiled. "Oh, just a nice relaxing stroll to Sweet Apple Acres. Apple Bloom forgot her mathbook so I thought I'd drop it off."
"Well, you know, being an Apple and all, she probably doesn't need it," Pinkie said while wiping the counter."
"And why's that, Pinkie?"
"Because they already know all about pie, silly!"
Cheerilee snorted a giggle. "That's terrible, Pinkie!"
"Yes it is! They can't all be winners, ya know!" Pinkie waved as the teacher left.
A few minutes later, Pinkie was rearranging the pastry case when a strange feeling overcame her nose.
A Pink feeling.
She sniffed the air, eyes narrowing. In a low growl, "I smell… trouble." Then in a chirper tone, "and maybe a wedding!" Growl, "but still trouble… Trouble and a wedding."
"Pinkie, be a dear and help me take these cakes out of the oven, please," came a voice from the kitchen.
Chipper again. "Sure thing, Mrs Cake. Tralalalala!"