The Scone of Griffon Kindness
It started and ended with a scone. And, if memory serves, it was a pretty good scone at that.
I only know this, of course, because of the new scone recipe that spread faster than a wildfire (and believe me, wildfires spread very fast in the drier regions of the Hyperborean Mountains). Every griffon in town seemed to be eating them yesterday. And it wasn’t just the recipe, either; more to the point of my story, there was the wave of camaraderie that accompanied its rapid spread.
Now, don’t get me wrong; I’m as friendly as the next griffon. I even let a chick I’d never met before roost in my attic that one time, without any ulterior motive; just the smile on her beak and the bits in her purse were all I asked for. So, I’d like to think I was already pretty used to this whole friendship thing.
But from yesterday onward, it got a little overboard. Well, I say a little, but, in hindsight, it was actually pretty out of control. One day, I’m at the library desk, seeing nobody other than the occasional old geezer wandering in off the streets, only to sit in a quiet corner and read in silence. The next, the whole place is jam-packed full of griffons of all shapes and sizes, all flocks of life, and from all over the Griffon Kingdom. On the whole, they were behaving like I’d never seen any griffons behave before; sharing books, eating snacks, and chatting away.
Technically, there wasn’t any rule against eating in the library, but that was only because I’d never had griffons come in here with food in the first place. Even if they did, it wouldn’t usually have been an issue; most griffons (myself, for one) would have brought some worms or something to snack on. Worms don’t usually make such a big mess. Yesterday afternoon, though, there were no worms; instead, it was scones, scones everywhere.
Although eating was (if only by omission) permitted, there was definitely a rule against talking; I’d like to think that my library was a solemn sanctuary of learning, where scholars could perch and pour over Griffonstone’s proud archives. The ordinance took the form of a large, overhanging sign at the library's entrance, meaning nobody had any excuse. So, when I went over to reprimand an unruly group of hatchlings for their incessant squawking, I’d hoped they’d take the hint and get lost.
“Aw, come on, I was just helping Velma here with her homework.” The girl’s raspy voice was indignant yet perfectly innocent; I could tell she wasn’t trying to start a fight, nor was she insinuating I should leave her alone. It was, for lack of a better word, genuine. A genuine plea. I stepped back, staring quizzically at her, unsure of her motives.
“I’m sorry, but if you wish to engage in idle conversation, there is plenty of space outside.” I’d like to think I sounded nice and parental, but from the looks on their faces, they didn’t buy it for a second.
“But it’s so hot out there, and we’re not harming anybody.” The girl gave a cute pout, and sat there, waiting for me to make my next move.
“You’re harming others by…” I was going to say ‘harming others by distracting them,’ but a quick aside glance told me that they had plenty to distract themselves already. Come to think of it, I don’t think I saw a single griffon actually reading a book. They were all still eating and…gossiping, I guess.
“Mmm, these are good,” another hatchling, a male, chimed in. He wiped his talon over his beak, spilling crumbs all over the floor. When I shot him a glare, he just stared up at me, doe-eyed, like he’d done nothing wrong. “Want one?”
I reeled a little, taken completely aback. “Want what?”
“A scone.” The young griffon gestured towards a tray of puffy pastries; evidently the source of the smell. The sweet, succulent smell. Come to think of it, I was a little hungry, as my stomach attested.
“How much?”
“How…much?”
“Don’t play dumb, kid. One bit?” I sniffed again in evaluation. “Two?”
“I don’t need any bits, mister.” My beak curled back in a patronising grin.
“Very funny.”
“N-no, I just, um, thought you’d like some…there’s a new scone recipe that’s been going around town, a-and…” The boy trailed off, stuttering as my smile turned to an impatient frown.
“I have half a mind to kick you lot out of the library if you aren’t going to keep quiet, and here you are, offering me snacks for…what, exactly?”
“It’s just that…you know, with Gilda handing out free samples and all, we thought we’d…”
“Wait, wait, wait…you’re saying that Gilda, of all griffons, made these? And…she’s handing them out? For…free?” I sneered. “Likely story.”
“See for yourself; she’s probably all out by now, but maybe if you get down to her cart fast enough, you’ll be able to see her and ask. Still want one?” He held the scone out, as his friends all turned to look at me.
“Give me that.” I yanked the scone out of the hatchling’s talons, stuffing it into my awaiting beak. “Mmph, these are really good!” I’d had griffon-scones before, but there was something very much off about these ones. Not that it was a bad kind of off, mind you. I gulped, turning back to face the group of youngsters, who were...smiling brightly.
“Glad you liked them! You can have another, if you let us stay.” At that, I nearly spat the whole thing back out in surprise.
“I’m sorry; if I let you stay? You gave me a scone for free, you’re offering me another one, and you’re not even doing so with the hopes of being able to stay!” My brow furrowed in angry confusion. “So…what’s the deal here?”
“I-I just thought, you know, you’re working all day and everything, and everybody here’s having a good time, and there’s more than enough scones to go around.” The girl’s eyes, wide and dilated, darted to the side to avoid my inquisition.
“I’m watching you all. Like a griffon.” I took another scone for later, leaving the group to their own devices for now. I checked to see if nobody was looking, before cramming the whole thing down my throat and swallowing. Instantly, my practised, stern librarian’s stare turned to a look of childlike glee. “Man, these are amazing!”
“Eh, I’ve had better,” a raspy voice interjected. I looked over my shoulder to see Barnabas, one of the library’s only regular frequenters, standing behind me, preening his wings in boredom.
“Oh. Afternoon, Barney. I take it you’ve had one already?”
“Nah,” he said, dejected, “haven’t had time to go buy one. ‘Sides, I’m not hungry.”
That was the first time in a while that I felt that strange, sinking feeling in my chest, accompanied by a nagging thought. I’d had two scones already, so the feeling wasn’t hunger…
Guilt. That was it.
“Sorry, Barney. I’d have offered you…”
“I don’t need your charity. Everyone here’s handing it out like they think they’ll getting something out of it, and it’s all because of those blasted ponies.”
“Barney, I’m not…wait, what ponies?” I hadn’t seen a pony in Griffonstone since only a few years after I’d hatched.
“You didn’t see them? Kinda hard to miss; a cerulean Pegasus and a springy sprite of a pink one? Did you even leave the library today?”
“No, can't say I have; I’ve been pretty busy. So…what were the ponies doing here? Most visitors to the Kingdom have better places to see than this dump.”
“From what I heard, one of them was looking for this library of all places, but I think she got a little sidetracked. The other…well, Gilda seemed to know her from somewhere, so we…”
“So THAT’s why she’s been acting up. Or, um, so I've heard.”
“Yeah. Before today, she was just like every other street-vendor; an all-business, no-nonsense proprietor. But now; I swear to Tartarus, she couldn’t sell –well, give away, in this case- a single scone without asking someone about their day. She didn’t even know half of the customers, and yet she still acted like she cared! What’s up with that?”
“That’s pretty strange. But…what did the ponies even do?”
“Rumour has it they tried searching for some ancient artefact. I’m no expert –okay, I am, but I won’t bore you- but if they said she was down in the Abysmal Abyss, I’d hazard it was the Lost Idol of Boreas.”
“Isn’t that just an old griffon’s tale?”
“Do you really think some random ponies would know that?” Of course, he was right; Griffon lore was hard to come by in the Western Kingdoms, and vice versa.
“Okay, probably not. But…”
“So they must’ve been sent on some mission to locate it for their own kingdom. You know ponies can do magic, right?” I looked at him blankly.
“Pony magic has nothing to do with Gilda OR the Idol.”
“Oh, it has everything to do with both,” he said, wagging his talon in a judgemental manner. “Ponies taking a griffon down into a cavernous pit, and when she comes out, she’s completely forgotten how to run a business properly? It’s more than a little strange, I tell you.”
“Okay, Barney, that’s a little uncalled for. What makes you think they did anything to Gilda?”
“Hello? Take a look around; they must’ve done something” I glanced about the room, reminding myself why I was so confused in the first place.
“Well…I suppose it’s certainly out of the ordinary. But you’re a scholar; you should know that the only ponies that can do magic are the ones with the stupid-looking horns. Did either of them have horns?”
“Hmm,” he grunted. “No, I suppose they didn’t. But then how’d you explain all this 'friendship' stuff without magic involved?”
“Perhaps" I pondered aloud, "it’s another kind of magic. Something that’s…gotten to Gilda, and spread throughout Griffonstone. Wait, I didn’t mean…” I stared at my outstretched claw, crumbs still dripping off of it, then back to a griffon eating and chatting away, and finally, back to Barnabas.
“Yes, that’s exactly what I thought! The ponies caused it, right? They must have put something in the scones!” His eyes darted manically about, before he loomed closer, his beak pressed against my ear as he whispered. “Should we tell someone?”
I sighed; Barnabas may be a scholar, but he was hardly well-travelled, and, like most rational griffons, more than a little xenophobic. “I don’t know what you’re proposing, Barney, but, to answer your questions, yes and no.” Here I was, going into full lecture mode. “How much do you know about pony culture?”
“I’d like to think I have a good grasp of their religious practices, but…”
“Okay, never mind, forget culture; how much do you know about pony customs? Like, not what you read in a book, but what you would say to their face.”
“Not much,” he admitted, “but…I still don’t see how that affects Gilda and the others…”
“Because, remember, she’s spent time with ponies before, right?”
“Oh yeah!” Barnabas’ pupils dilated in realisation. “So…it’s just the way the ponies usually are.” I saw relief return to him as his stance relaxed. At least he’d quickly let go of that conspiracy.
“Exactly; they've just been injecting their own customs into our daily lives, and that’s why everyone’s acting up like this. It’s not magic, Barney, it’s just ignorance!”
“Ignorance?”
“Yep, ignorance. We don’t know anything about them, and they don’t know anything about us. They show up, out of the blue, act like they’ve always done, and because Gilda here got caught in the crossfire, their ways are starting to vicariously osmose into our own lives.” I snapped my fingers, confident in my intellectual victory, even if I'd overdone it with the vocabulary.
“Uhh…sure. I guess that makes sense. So, what you’re saying is, the ponies were just trying to be heroes, without knowing anything about the griffons they were trying to help. Gilda’s now acting all pony-like, being overly friendly with everyone, and –at least from a business perspective- it’s obviously going to work out for her soon enough, judging by how many griffons are eating her wares.”
“Mhm. And, the savvy business-griffons we are, we’re all going to accept it soon enough. Come to think of it, if the scones are this good, I’m pretty sure I could see myself accepting it after a while.”
“Accept what; the scones, or the arbitrary, pony-like perspective on friendship?”
“Both, I suppose. Barney, look at me; I’m not falling for any tricks or spells or anything. If you recall, I was the one who got two free scones without paying a single bit.” From his reaction, I could tell that that last comment seemed to sting a little.
“Fine. But I still think that, just maybe, this whole pony hero complex is getting to your head, too. Nice seeing you.”
“You to.” I turned around, making my way over to the door, when a thought hit me. “Hang on; did I just spend several minutes talking to somebody I barely even know, about nothing in particular, instead of getting on with my job?”
Almost as soon as I came to the realisation of what I’d done, I shook my head in dismissal.
Although I tried to brush it off, I’ll admit this much; Barney and I were a little closer to each other after that conversation, and, maybe, even a little better off for it. “Nah. Scones are one thing, but friendship’s quite another. He’s just a customer; nothing more.”
Just a customer…Just a customer…
That’s when I had my brilliant idea. “Maybe Gilda’s not the only one who could stand to benefit from this whole friendship thing…” My lips curled into a not-so-toothy grin, as I relished the possibilities. “It certainly seems good for business, after all…Barnabas, you’re bloody brilliant!”
And that’s what prompted me to action today. It would’ve been like any other day, but I’d decided to kick it off a little differently this time, starting with the most important meal. Last night, you see, I’d decided on a whim to invite Barnabas and a couple of other griffons over for breakfast.
Why, you might ask?
I was making scones, and I was going to sell them to my new friends, at a one-bit discount from their street price. See, I told you; I learned a lot about friendship today. Well, friendship and good business. Who says they have to be mutually exclusive?
