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, so why not now? Yeah. Her speed, her attitude, her… Well, there weren’t exactly a lot of griffons around. Attention didn’t bug her in the least.
She stared over the podium at a spot on the floor, just in front of the first row of tables, where the carpet had a weird twist in its pattern, like a red spiral, and… Gilda shut her eyes to stop the feeling of spinning, then looked up at the crowd. So many colors. Griffons didn’t really have much of a range of colors. White, black, brown, gray, maybe a dye job here and there. But so much color here, too much, like a… a rainbow.
No. She didn’t have time for this crap. She took a deep breath and swirled her cider around in her glass. Her fifth glass.
They’d told her to save it, that she’d need it for later. For the toasts. But she kept draining it, and they refilled it every time, with a bigger scowl and a harsher whisper that it needed to last. Whatever. They wouldn’t leave her with an empty glass once the toasts started, because Celestia forbid someone couldn’t take part. Stupid ponies.
Then when they finally had started with the presentations, the level had inched down with each one, and now her turn. Her turn.
After all that cider, how could her throat possibly be so dry? She’d probably just squawk if she tried to say anything now. Better wet her whistle, one more time. She watched the ripples dancing in her glass, little golden things bouncing back and forth, crashing into the walls and each other. What kept making it shake like that? Good thing she had this cider with her. It’d steady her nerves, just a bit. That’s all she needed.
In the seat next to her, that farm pony… Applejack cleared her throat amid the dead silence. Gilda blinked at the glaring spotlight in her face and the blackness behind it, then downed the last swallow and jiggled her glass in Applejack’s direction. She thought she heard a low growl, and the simple pony shot her the evil eye. But she slid the pitcher over and refilled Gilda’s drink anyway. Yeah, jump through the hoop, stupid ponies. Another round, barkeep.
Gilda held it up to her beak and sniffed it. Why’d everything have to be so sweet and fruity with them? At least they didn’t bring some dumb ol’ apple juice. Something with a kick to it, that’s how to celebrate.
Then she lifted the glass high above her head. “To Rainbow Dash!” she said. Damn, was her voice really that loud? Oh, yeah, the… the microphone thing. She leaned forward to brace a claw on the podium. “The biggest rat bastard ever to disgrace the sky with her second-place tricks and her second-best flying. The finest runner-up… er… um, flyer-up—heh—to crash and burn. Am I right?”
She leered sidelong at Applejack, who shook her head and sighed. One of these days, that straight-laced pony might learn to take a joke. And in the next seat past her, the yellow one, Flutter-something—she ducked her head down onto the table and covered her nose with her napkin. Bunch of uptight, boring… ponies.
“She’s done with me now, huh? Moved on.” Gilda slouched forward even farther, resting on her free elbow. “And-and this? I know… I know we weren’t the best of friends after—”
Another swallow of that cider would sure hit the spot right now. But the glass stayed up, out of reach. “We got together on a few occasions, had some fun. Then the first time I hear from her in three months, and it’s for this!? Why’d she even invite me? Who does that?”
Pinkie should be laughing at her making a fool out of herself. Pinkie didn’t even need to prank her. Gilda snuck a peek out of the corner of her eye, and… Pinkie was laughing. She’d kept quiet somehow, but she must have laughed herself to tears, ’cause there they were.
Adopting her best dumb-guy voice, she added, “All done with Gilda.” The glass had finally sunk back down, where she could reach it… oh. She maneuvered it by her face and stuck her tongue toward it, but up it went. Up again. She lifted it. “To Rainbow Dash.”
Some mumbling, some clinking of glasses. She rolled her eyes up at it, and the ceiling sloshed around, golden brown. Why’d it keep moving? She couldn’t catch it and drink it. Spinning now, and everything… going black.
Gilda rubbed her head. With her drinking claw, too, so… her glass was gone, she guessed. So she opened her eyes. Yeah, gone, but the spilled cider, still next to her on the rug. Plates banging together—it sounded like it came from inside her head, but… from the kitchen. They must have cleaned up.
All the tables empty, nopony here. Still a few dishes out, but quiet in here, everypony gone. Gone. Why… why’d that word…?
She pulled herself up to the table again and grabbed two clawfuls of podium to keep herself upright, and there, still by Applejack’s spot—“To Rainbow Dash.” She reached for the pitcher, but… empty. Damn.
“You don’t need that. It won’t help.”
Huh? Who…? Gilda glanced around the room, but nopony there. Why was her arm pink? She followed the pink arm to a pink shoulder to… “Pinkie?” Holding her up, helping her stand. Pinkie nodded. “I… I guess everyone’s pretty mad with me,” Gilda said.
“Weeeeell. Maybe. Applejack wanted to drag you out of the way and leave you there, but I said I’d watch you, so I sat here and stayed with you.” She smiled. She wouldn’t even smile when she got to see Gilda self-destructing, but she would now?
“You must be mad, too, huh?”
“Nope. Not mad,” Pinkie answered. Why’d she 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 and that intense stare, eyes welling… like she’d take Gilda’s tears and cry them for her. Gilda looked away. She didn’t need to see that right now, but next thing she knew, Pinkie had her locked in a hug. “Why?” Gilda asked. “Why me? Why’d she invite me to this? Who even does that? Who makes an invitation list for her own funeral?”
For some reason, Pinkie giggled. “Could you really see Dash in some stuffy old ceremony? She wanted it this way. Everyone sharing stories about how awesome she was, giving her a big send-off. I loved it! I wanna do something like that myself!”
Gilda gaped at her, and whatever had lit up Pinkie’s eyes left. She leaned in and hugged Gilda tighter. Gilda should stop her. She should. Stupid pony. Her throat burned and ached, and if only she could get away and go somewhere—
Pinkie pressed something into her claw. She held it up so she could see it over Pinkie’s shoulder. 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. No. No way that could be right. This… this should go to someone else. “Why? Why, I don’t deserve it, I—”
“She said you do.” The hug got even tighter.
So did Gilda’s grip on the necklace, and her other claw wrapped around Pinkie before she could think to stop it. And then a stifled wail started from… from her own throat. No! Keep it together, Gilda!
She sank to her knees, and Pinkie held her while she trembled and clutched at the feathers on top of her head. No, why’d she even come here? Dash had left her behind long ago, and she’d already accepted that, so what was inviting her supposed to accomplish? What was attending supposed to accomplish?
Shaking, Gilda could only sit there, or maybe it was Pinkie shaking, while more bangs and clinks sounded from the kitchen. Nobody came out to get the last few plates and that empty pitcher.
“Let’s go,” Pinkie finally whispered in her ear. And then with a strength Gilda never would have expected, Pinkie lifted her onto her back and carried her from that awful, still room.
“Pinkie, you’re so stupid that...” Gilda tapped a claw on her beak and squinted.
“That what?” Pinkie Pie replied, her mouth all geared up to laugh, and ran a hoof through the cloud beneath them.
“That... you thought Mi Amore Cadenza was a place to keep your little black book.” Gilda forced a grin and held her breath. Their senses of humor didn’t always mesh, but Pinkie still encouraged her to come up with insults. She’d said that’s how she knew, way back when they first met, that they’d become good friends. Weird pony.
Pinkie screwed up her face and closed one eye halfway. “I... don’t get it.”
“Well, ‘Mi Amore’ is like ‘love,’ so...” A claw circled in midair as if to unfurl the scroll containing the rest of the joke.
“I got that part. It’s the rest,” Pinkie said while scratching her head.
Maybe an even bigger grin would sell it. “Well, ‘Cadenza’ sounds kind of like ‘credenza.’”
“Yeah... needs too much explanation. Not your best effort.” Pinkie reached a hoof up toward a far-off cloud as if beckoning to an old friend. “Now, if you’d said I was so stupid that I thought Sugarcube Corner was the one who pronounced ponies dead from sugar overload, that would have been funny, because—” she glanced around to make sure nobody else might hear “—that’s actually come close to happening before.”
Gilda’s back stiffened, and she widened her eyes at Pinkie’s giggling. She couldn’t be serious, could she? Even if not, that seemed a rather morbid thing to joke about.
Whatever expression she’d seen on Gilda’s face had her laughing even harder, and she doubled over until she could speak again. “Ah, just kidding, silly head!” Then she shifted onto her side to face Gilda, who kept a very close eye on her to make sure she didn’t go too far.
“Careful, Pinkie,” Gilda said as she raised a foreleg and tried to shove Pinkie back. “Watch yourself.”
“Oh, I’m always careful!” Pinkie replied, but then she rolled her eyes upward. “Or is it never…?”
Gilda finally joined in the laughter. Who knew with her? She might be joking, or serious, or… she might not even know the difference.
Pinkie laid her head down on her woven mat of feathers. It’d taken Gilda a few years to collect enough, but whenever she’d molted, plucked a loose one, whatever… she’d saved them all in a bag. When she had enough, she’d taken them to Fluttershy’s and had her sew them together. After knocking on her door for the better part of an hour and promising over and over again that she wouldn’t do anything scary, or even look scary, so… basically, she’d waited outside. But at least it had worked. Pinkie nearly exploded when she opened that gift last Hearth’s Warming, and now she could sit on the clouds with Gilda.
“Do you like it up here?” Gilda asked.
Pinkie nodded vigorously, then rolled onto her back again and crossed her forelegs behind her head. “Yeah. I like seeing the clouds from the other side. Makes me feel… calm.”
For a moment, Gilda stared at her. Did Pinkie even understand the concept? Even when she’d sit still, she had gears whirring in that head. But she did often stay a little quieter up in the sky.
Propping herself on a shoulder, Gilda just watched. Pinkie wore her usual faint smile, as if she had a constant stream of private jokes running through her mind. Who knew—maybe she did. Her eyes danced as she reached toward another cloud, and her forelock fluttered in the breeze.
Finally, Pinkie noticed the attention, and her smile grew into the warm one she always had in store for a friend, or even for a stranger who was already a friend and didn’t know it yet. Gilda chose to watch Pinkie’s hooves instead. “Pinkie, why was I such a jerk back then?”
“You just hadn’t matured yet,” Pinkie said through her toothy grin. Gilda nearly let a laugh escape her throat. To hear Pinkie talk about maturity… Well, she was trying to be serious. “It’s okay. You simply had to get it out of your system, play all the pranks, yell all the insults, eat all the cupcakes, throw all the parties…”
Pinkie scowled for a moment. “Wait, I think I took a wrong turn there.”
Gilda shook as that pent-up laugh spilled out. Did Pinkie do that deliberately, or did her mind just work that way?
Like everything else, though, laughter ends. And lately, an ending from some time ago had stolen away the edges of her days like a pickpocket. She flicked a wingtip over the lightning-bolt-shaped choker she wore and breathed out a deep sigh. “Why me? Why’d she leave this to me?”
Pinkie patted Gilda’s shoulder and leaned forward like a parent reminding her child on Hearth’s Warming Eve that she’d have some treats waiting for her in the morning. “Because she saw something in you, silly! She knew there was a quality she liked, buried deep in there—” she poked a hoof at Gilda’s chest “—that she thought was special. She stuck by you when you didn’t feel worth it.”
Gilda frowned. “I know that last part. But why?”
“Duh!” Pinkie crossed her eyes and stuck her tongue out. “Element of Loyalty!”
“I know that, too,” Gilda said, her gaze wandering to the horizon. “But she didn’t have an obligation. She chose to.”
Pinkie brushed at her own neck, where a necklace might go. “That’s what makes an Element. Otherwise, she’d be a regular kind of friend, which is already pretty darn special in my book!” She let out a short laugh and a snort. Pinkie always snorted when she really meant something, just a little poker tell of hers. She probably didn’t realize it.
“Even though you didn’t visit much, you should have heard her talk about you,” Pinkie said quietly. “She said you’d surprise us one day.”
Yeah. By getting black-out drunk at Dash’s funeral. Nice surprise. If only she could go back and fix that.
Pinkie nodded. Could she read minds? She sure did seem to have a sixth sense about everything else, so why not that? “My turn, then. Why me, Gilda?”
“Because I was awful to you.” Gilda puffed out her feathers and took a long breath. “To everyone, but especially you. Maybe you forgave me, maybe you never held a grudge in the first place. It’s hard to tell with you. But I figured if I was supposed to live up to this gig, I’d better start there.”
“What gig?” Pinkie said through a trill of giggles. “There aren’t exactly Elements anymore.”
“You know what I mean. It still counts for something.” Pinkie didn’t say anything, only nodded. “Anyway, I thought if I could win you over—”
“And you did!” Pinkie leapt over and crashed into Gilda with a hug, and Gilda’s heart stopped—she grabbed frantically at Pinkie’s shoulders to hold her up, that stupid pony’s legs dangling through the cloud. Crazy Pinkie, trusting Gilda like that. Trusting her…
Gilda got a better grip on Pinkie and hovered low over the cloud so she could roll up her feather mat. Then Pinkie glanced up at Gilda’s choker. “You don’t have to wear that all the time, you know.”
“Yes I do.” Gilda could never forget. Or repay.
Pinkie pursed her lips. “Tell you what. In honor of Dashie, let’s go pull a prank.”
“I dunno.” Not exactly the kind of thing that’d help out her reputation any. “Dash told me never to prank Fluttershy, I don’t think Twilight would notice, and Rarity…” Gilda watched their little cloud drift away without them. “I know she still doesn’t like me. Can’t blame her.”
“C’mon. Applejack’s a good sport. She changed her mind about you long ago, when you gave her all that help last Winter Wrap Up.” Who could ever resist that smile? “And it’s for Dashie!”
Gilda swished her tail and didn’t fight the smirk that had crept over her beak. “Fine. But keep it low-key.”
“Ooookaaaaay. But I can’t Pinkie Promise…”
