Part 1 - The Griffon and the Grouch
Gilda Griffon didn’t remember falling asleep. Most living things don’t; they simply drop off into unconsciousness when tired, and simply lose themselves in a deep, black, endless and featureless void, sometimes dreaming, sometimes not, until the slow first light of dawn brings them back to wakefulness.
But tonight, clearly…if it was night, and if Gilda was asleep…it was a clear, vivid and colorful dream, and as bright as day, it seemed. Except...it seemed a lot brighter & sharper than natural daylight. Like studio lights on a high-resolution TV picture. Whatever that was. Griffons didn’t have TV sets. Only those rich snooty ponies in Manehattan did.
“Yeah, that’s it...” thought Gilda, “…I must be in Manehattan. Only…where are all the ponies? Or griffons? Or dragons, yaks, buffalo, zebras, manticores, phoenixes…or any other creatures I’m used to seeing? Hmm…maybe this isn't Manehattan. Maybe I’m…”
Gilda stopped, and shuddered. “Mm…maybe I’m not even in Equestria anymore. But how? Why?”
Then the griffon glowered and growled: “Hmmm…and who? If this is that Draconnequs Discord’s doing, I swear I’m ‘gonna get even with him if it’s the last thing I ever do!" She shook a foreclaw in the air at the thought! But then the griffon sighed, and twisted her beak into a wry half-smile. “Hmm…well, I’ll worry about that, later. As long as I’m here, wherever here is, I might as well take a good look around…”
Gilda whipped her feathered head all about to take in her surroundings. She stared up at the brownstone tenement apartment building, at the clapboard fence, garbage pile and curbside mailbox to its right, and a fire hydrant, garage & tire swing on its left. Beyond that, Gilda eyed a street-corner general store, a fix-it shop and other storefronts, and a large wire mesh wastebasket on the other curb, just outside the store.
Turning her head back to the fence, garbage pile & mailbox, Gilda also noticed a tall green lamp post, and an oddly-shaped sign on it.
The sign was green with a yellow border and bold white lettering, but since Gilda never studied any languages beyond the borders of Griffonstone or Equestria, or outside of her elementary classes at Cloudsdale Flight School, she couldn’t read the sign to tell her
where she was.
Or for that matter, what she was hearing. Faint traffic noises with no traffic was one thing, but faint traffic noises with a slow light-jazz beat and a blues harmonica playing on top of it? She couldn’t even tell where that music was coming from. It was just…in the air. Where was it coming from, the rooftops? What in the world was up with that?
Whoops!! But she did know the sound of approaching footsteps when she heard it! Not wanting to be seen, Gilda darted her head around madly to locate a good hiding place. Having only a split-second to decide, she crouched & leapt like the lion she half-was (her wings spread out & flapping for lift) and dove over a short stone barrier to the left of the front steps to the brownstone!
***
A gaggle of strange creatures passed by, chattering noisily. Some were upright with hairless bodies and plain clothes, though they did have hair on their heads. (One had it right on his face, just below the nose. Gordon, the others called him.) Some were older, a few were younger. Children, Gilda guessed. One was a tall creature covered in bright-yellow feathers, but had long orange 3-toed feet, ridged with purple rings, or whatever. A very big bird indeed, as he seemed to be called.
Big Bird also seemed to be carrying on in an enthusiastic singsong voice, excited about something he’d learned that day and was sharing it with the others. Bringing up the rear was his friend: a large furry brown earless elephantine creature with melancholy puppy-dog eyes. When he spoke, it sounded like his voice was coming through the far end of a long plastic tube. His trunk made a snuffling sound as he walked, following the others and chuckling deeply. ‘Snuffleuppagus’ the others addressed him as. Gilda furrowed her feathered brow at that name.
But one figure (the one they called Bob) stopped short of the rest. Furrowing his own brow, he turned to see something on the stone barrier near the brownstone. Gilda winced; she forgot to pull her lion’s tail up over the barrier! Bob stared at it, not sure what he was seeing. He turned his head back to the others, as if wondering if he should keep up with the group, or stop and investigate this strange object. But just as he was turning back to look at it again---zoop! It was gone. He glanced around, but couldn’t find it again.
“Hmm, that’s strange…” Bob muttered, scratching his head in puzzlement.
“Oh, well…” he said after a pause, shrugging at last, and hastened back after the group.
***
Only the top of Gilda’s white feathered head, with her gold-colored eagle eyes blinking, rose slightly above the barrier. Thank goodness that annoying music had finally faded out, though the faint traffic noises didn’t. “Whew…that was a close one.” she whispered, not wanting to be overheard.
No good. She was, anyway.
From one of the open windows in the basement apartment of the tenement building, a voice said: “Oooh…would you look at that? Oh, Bert…hey, Bert, come on over here and take a look at this?"
Gilda couldn’t see who was speaking, as a thin pale-blue curtain seemed to cover the open window. Determined to discourage the veiled onlooker, she turned her head sharply around, raised a claw to her beak and said: “SHH!” (Like a certain purple pony librarian she remembered from back home.)
“Oooh…okay, sheesh…” the voice said back, a little bit flustered.
“(*Sigh*) What, Ernie? Take a look at what?" said another voice, impatient by the sound of it, as was
Gilda right at that moment. She used the distraction to her advantage, and flapped off like a bird!
“Aww, too late, Bert, you scared it away.” said Ernie.
“Well, what was it? What did it look like?” asked Bert.
“Oh, some half-bird half-cat creature. Kee-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!" Ernie laughed, in his own peculiar fashion.
“Oh, Ernie, you and your jokes. Come away from the window. You’re making me miss my favorite TV show: ‘The Wonderful World of Pigeons.’ Eh-eh-eh-eh-eh-eh!" Bert laughed in his own peculiar fashion.
“Okay, Bert…” said Ernie, closing the window.
***
Peeking up from her new hiding place just behind the garbage pile, Gilda shook her head in exasperation.
“Oh, boy…this weird place is getting weirder all the time. Something or someone around here’d better start
making sense somehow, and soon!" she groused.
Then she stiffened, realizing something. “Why am I suddenly spouting S-words?”
It was then that she noticed…a large white letter ‘S’ hovering in the air to her left.
“Is that what you are: an ‘S’? (*Sigh*) Okay, okay, you’re an ‘S’! Now SHOO!" Gilda shouted!
And taking a deep breath, she blew the letter ‘S’ away!
The griffon clapped a foreclaw over her eyes. “What more can happen today?” she groaned.
***
Just then…Gilda heard from up the street, the banging & bumping of something…metal.
“Oh, no...now what?” she whined.
Gilda peered as high as she could over the pile of garbage bags and boxes, and saw… no… it couldn’t be! But…yes, it was!
Gilda Griffon stared in wide-eyed amazement at-----a walking trash can, with green furry feet.
It seemed to be singing as it plodded along:
"Doo, dee, doo...doo-dee-doo, doo, dee, doo..."
The voice was gruff and gravel-like. The gait was slow but steady. Garbage was everywhere
on the street, but the can just got up to it, and seemed to gulp it up grossly, as it landed on each pile.
“Mmm…good." it seemed to say.
“Aww, good grief…” said the griffon, face-clawing herself. “Now it’s G-words!”
Then Gilda looked to her right…and saw a large red letter ‘G’ perched on the stone tenement steps.
“(*Sigh*) ALL RIGHT, ALL RIGHT, I GET IT, YOU’RE A ‘G’! NOW GET 'OUTTA HERE!"
she groused again, and swatted the letter ‘G’ away with a wing!
***
"Slimy day...sweepin' the, trash away... on my way, to where pollution's sweet..."
The walking can continued singing, keeping time with each step it took. It soon reached the garbage
pile and boxes, and proceeded to march right up to where Gilda was hiding.
"One, two, three, four..." it counted as it climbed.
“Aw, COME ON!" snapped the exasperated griffon, as she dove for cover again!
"Can you tell me how to get, how to get to---(*CLANK!*)
It never finished the song, as it landed soundly on its perch, above the boxes, in the garbage pile.
"Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh..." the can seemed to be chuckling.
Gilda waited a long while. When nothing more seemed to happen, she peeked up again.
“Okay, that does it. Enough is enough!" she said, with a tone of finality.
Landing on top of the trash can lid and resting on her haunches, she bent her head down
and pecked hard & loud on the grimy metal surface! BANG-BANG-BANG!
“Owwww…” Gilda winced in pain, as she wrinkled her dirtied, battered beak.
“HEY! WHAT GIVES??” a grating, irritated voice echoed from deep within!
Gilda Griffon leapt down on the street pavement to the left side of the can, and sprang up on her feline hind legs,
leaning her eagle foreclaws forward on the rim of the can, to face whomever or whatever, lived inside the receptacle.
"COME OUT, COME OUT, WHOEVER YOU ARE! WE NEED TO TALK!!" She bellowed!
The can lid flew open, and a shaggy green hand grabbed the edge of the can fiercely!
It was followed immediately by an equally shaggy green head, with a thick brown uni-brow and piercing white eyes
with coal black pupils, staring furiously at the unwanted visitor.
The wide mouth parted open, revealing a gaping, toothless black maw, and a bright-red tongue that seemed ready
to clip a hedge clean in one strike! The mouth bellowed right back: "HEY, WHAT'S THE BIG IDEA---huh?"
The eyes widened. And the uni-brow raised a bit.
Then the eyes blinked a few times, evidently not believing what they were seeing.
Then the uni-brow furrowed, and un-furrowed a few times, as if its owner had no clue what to say next.
Gilda Griffon simply flicked her wings, leaned in, gold eagle eyes blazing, and said:
"WHAT'RE YOU LOOKIN' AT, MOP-HEAD?"
[TO BE CONTINUED…]
Author's Note
Disclaimer: This fan-author respectfully acknowledges the character of Gilda Griffon to be owned & copyrighted by Hasbro Studios & DHX Media, and the characters of Gordon, Bob, Bert & Ernie, Big Bird & Snuffaluppagus, to be owned & copyrighted by Sesame Workshop, Inc., and makes no claim whatsoever to ownership of any such intellectual properties. This manuscript was produced solely as recreational writing as a hobby; not for profit. All rights reserved.
Part 2- 'Can't you READ?'
“Well, well, well…” thought the trash can-dwelling creature, “a worthy opponent at last…”
But not wanting to show he was impressed, the cretin heatedly retorted right back:
"HEY... WHO'RE YOU CALLING 'MOP-HEAD'...BIRD-BRAIN?"
Gilda’s eyes widened a bit…but she only paused, and stood her ground.
“(*Ahem*) I’m calling you that, you walking dust-mop…”
And for emphasis, Gilda grabbed the creature by the chest-fur, and pulled him up close,
so they were eye-to-eye, face to face!
“…if you don’t start answering my questions! Understand?"
For a moment, neither one flinched, but simply stood, eyes squinting and mouths sneering. Clearly, Gilda Griffon was not afraid
of this loudmouth, and was more than a match for him. And, oh boy, did he both love and hate that at the same time.
The green one swatted her talon away with a shaggy hand, and threatened her:
“NO ONE touches the fur of OSCAR THE GROUCH and gets away with it!”
“Oh yeah? Says who?"
“Says ME!”
“And you are, again?”
“Oscar! Oscar-Oscar-Oscar! OSCAR THE GROUCH! Think you can remember that?”
“And I’m Gilda! Gilda-Gilda-Gilda! GILDA THE GRIFFON! Think you can remember that?"
“What’s a Griffon?”
“That’s ME! What’s a Grouch?”
“That's ME!”
“That’s not saying much.”
“Watch it, sister…”
“Oh, yeah? What’re you ‘gonna do about it, huh?”
“… ... ... (*Groan*) I don’t know yet, but I’ll think of something."
Clearly, this conversation between grouch and griffon had reached an impasse.
Oscar rubbed his chin in thought. Gilda turned her head, sighed…and turned back to Oscar.
“Look…will you just tell me where I am, please? I think I’m lost.”
“Please? (Heh) Lady, you don’t have to be polite with me. I’m not Mister Manners in this neighborhood.
You're the one that got lost. That’s your problem; not mine. Don’t come bothering me with your problems.
That ain’t what grouches are for…”
By now, Gilda had just about enough of this nasty local’s lip. This was all a stranger like her could expect around here:
ask for help, and get nothing but sass in return? Trembling, Gilda ruffled her feathers…
"WILL YOU JUST HURRY UP AND TELL ME WHERE I AM??" she bellowed in a griffon battle cry!
The grouch had crouched low in his can, trembling and shaking the can.
“Sheesh, all right, all right, already…” he managed to say, with much trepidation.
Oscar rested his head on the rim of his can, chin in his furry hand, thinking…
“THE SIGN!” he declared!
“Huh? Sign? What sign?”
“Look…do you see that sign, up on the lamp post?”
Oscar pointed a furry finger from his can. Gilda followed it…to the lamp post street sign.
“What about it?”
“(*Groan*) CAN’T YOU READ?"
Gilda looked up at the sign…then back at Oscar.
“Of course I can read! Just…well…”
“(*Groan*) CAN’T YOU READ ENGLISH?"
“Huh? English? What’s that?"
“(*Grumble*) Oh, brother, you’re some piece of work…” the grouch muttered.
“It’s the language we’re speaking right now, to each other!"
“Oh…that."
“Yes, that. Didn’t you ever go to school?”
“Of course I did. Equestrian Flight School. Summer flight camp, actually.”
“And you never covered English in class?”
“All I’ve studied is Griffish and Equish. Sorry; no English.”
The grouch face-palmed himself.
“You mean to tell me you can speak English, but you CAN’T READ IT!?”
“Hey, don’t ask me. Ask my writers." Gilda shrugged.
Now the grouch was completely exasperated.
“OH, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD! YOU’RE AT 1-2-3 SESAME STREET, MANHATTAN ISLAND, NEW YORK CITY, U.S.A., ON THE NORTHEASTERN SEABOARD OF NORTH AMERICA! There, I've said it! Is that enough? Is that specific enough for you? Or do I have to draw you a MAP, too?"
A long, awkward pause stretched between the two…
Gilda dropped down from the side of Oscar’s can, and landed on all fours. Slowly, she shifted her feline hind-quarters, to rest on her haunches. Her face fell. Her eyes glazed. Her wings drooped. And her beak hung open. She looked shocked. Sad. And utterly bewildered.
Oscar studied her, from the edge of his can.
“(*Sigh*) You really are lost, ain’t cha, kid?” he asked, softly.
“Mm--Man-hattan? Nn--not…not Mane-hattan?” Gilda croaked in disbelief.
“Mane-hattan? What’re you talkin’ about? Just where are you from, anyway?”
“Guh…Griffonstone…”
“And…what’s a Griffonstone?”
“A small village way up in the mountains, in the northwestern part of Equestria…”
“Hmm…that would explain the wings and feathers….wait, what? EQUESTRIA!?"
“Yeah, that's what's I said! You got a problem with that, bub?” asked Gilda, springing up and shaking a claw-fist!
“Hey-hey-hey, whoa! I ain’t tryin’ to pick a fight with you. Not yet, anyway…
But what’s this place you call…Equestria?”
“What…it’s not on any of your world’s maps?”
“Well…not any that have been dumped into my trash can, lately…”
A thoughtful pause passed between the two edgy creatures.
“(*Sigh*) Okay, let’s just say it’s pretty far away…a whole different world, with…talking creatures
like me. And, um…others. Like…dragons, minotaurs, hippocampus, sea serpents, hydras…”
“Really…? Sounds like my kind of place! Heh-heh-heh-heh… What else?”
“Well…plenty of hoofstock, too. Mostly ponies. Four different kinds, I think… Let’s see, there’s…Pegasus ponies (they’ve got wings and control the weather) Earth ponies (no wings but they work the land) unicorns (horn on top of the head, and they use magic) and then there’s, umm…Alicorns.”
“Huh? Ali-what? What’s a…you know, an Alicorn?”
“Well, that’s, um….say, we griffons are hybrids, right? Half bird, half lion…well, Alicorns are…unicorns with Pegasus wings. Two kinds in one. Also…they’re the most powerful of all magic ponies, so…they’re kind of treated like royalty. There’s about four in charge of all the land, um… Celestia the Sun Princess, Luna the Moon Princess, and there’s, uh…Cadence the Love Princess, and finally… Twilight Sparkle, the…umm, the… Friendship Princess.”
"Friendship Princess? Yeeech…sorry I asked...” Oscar grimaced. "Wait...only princesses? No kings or queens?"
"We used to have a griffon king...but that was ages ago. Not much is known about him."
“So…where does Griffonstone fit into all that?”
“Well…” Gilda winced, “…it doesn't. It’s kind of high up there and remote, away from the rest of the nation.
Even though there are train tracks nearby, we usually don’t get much visitors. We griffons just aren’t all that, um…sociable."
At this, Oscar’s interest was piqued. Here indeed was a kindred spirit of a sort, from a far-away land.
“And, it’s…kind of a dump. A real fixer-upper. Houses falling apart and everything. When you
don’t get many visitors, why bother? Who’s there to try and impress? You wouldn’t like it…”
“Oh, wouldn't I?” said Oscar, indignantly: “"Try me! I LOVE dumps! And the more run-down the better, I always say!
Look…want to know what really tells people about a society? It ain’t their beautiful cities, or monuments, or fancy clothes or food…it’s their TRASH! It’s what people use & throw away that tells more about them, than what they buy and keep! Treasures all rust and decay, and in the long run, don’t mean nothing. It’s the trash and garbage of a civilization, built up in layers upon layers of fossilized stone and rock, that tell future civilizations more about that same ancient civilization, than all of their gold, silver or bronze hoards, shut up in sealed tombs and buried in the ground. I guarantee you, Gilda...trash is where it’s at! Don’t let anybody tell you different. And don’t let anybody call you trash, or put down where you live. Everybody, is somebody. Even us grouches, have a Grouchland to all our very own!”
Here Oscar straightened up, and saluted the lid of his can, patriotically!
"Hmph, I know a certain writer pony who'd be hanging on every word of that totally lame speech..."
thought Gilda. She wanted to say that out loud, but instead, decided to feign a little appreciation…
“Yeah…yeah! I think I see what you mean, Oscar. Being an outlander, does not make me an outcast! Any more than being…a different species…makes me any less important than my fellow Equestrian citizens. You know what, Oscar? You’re really an okay kind of dude. Bad breath and all…”
“Aww, gee… Thanks, Gilda; HHHHHOWW nice-and-nasty of you to say that.” said Oscar, making sure he breathed into Gilda’s
rapidly grimacing face. Tears welled up in her irritated eyes as the sharp smell ran up the sensitive nostrils of her beak.
“And now that all the niceties are over… SCRAM! AND HAVE A ROTTEN DAY!!"
And with that, Oscar ducked down into his trash can, SLAMMING the lid with a loud CLANG!!
After a pause, as though waiting to see if the grouch was going to do anything else, and seeing that he wasn’t, Gilda got up and wandered over to the brownstone front steps. Clearly her talk with Oscar, while helping her at last to find out where she was, did nothing to help her find a way to get back home.
Not knowing what else to do, Gilda did what a griffon usually does to find an answer to a difficult problem…she ambled up the steps, found purchase on a ledge to the left-hand side of the steps, hunkered down…and sat like a gargoyle, or sphinx, to think…and hoped an answer would come to her, soon…
***
Fortunately, she didn’t have long to wait. About a second or two after she’d settled down, a door opened inward at the top of the steps. Gilda didn’t look to see who or what it was, but heard hoof-clops coming out the door, as it closed.
“(*Ah-heh-hem*) Gilda…” a singsong voice softly intoned to the resting griffon.
No response.
“Gilda Griffon…” the voice gently tried again.
Still no response. Evidently Gilda was deep in thought.
"GILDA!!" the voice BELLOWED, making the griffon jump and sending her backwards off the ledge!
Flapping her wings quickly to keep from falling, she hovered and maneuvered to land back on the ledge.
“All right, all right, I heard you already! Sheesh, what do you want? GASP---!!”
Gilda stared with wide golden eyes at------the indigo Alicorn Princess of the Moon!
Luna beamed a smile at the griffon.
“P-p---Princess Luna?" Gilda stammered.
“Yes, Gilda Griffon, it is I, Princess Luna, guardian of your dreams..." the Night Princess declared.
Gilda just blinked.
"Time for you to wake up, now..." said Luna, lowering her horn squarely at Gilda.
“Huh?”
The horn glowed and FLASHED!! Gilda shot backwards and fell off the ledge, her wings flailing!
But instead of landing on the concrete pavement, the griffon tumbled into a black void!!
“YAAAAAHHHH…!!!”
***
The next thing Gilda knew…she was sitting up in her own nest, in her home back in Griffonstone.
She had to look around several times to realize…that it was indeed, all…just a dream.
Blearily, she peered out the window, and saw the moon was setting. Another new day was about to dawn.
Gilda shook her mussed feather head, and rubbed her eyes awake with balled foreclaws.
“That’s it…no more eating mice before bed for me!" the flustered griffon declared.
***
As this story now came to its end, Luna appeared in head-shot on the face of the setting moon, while the light-jazz & blues harmonica music faded back in. As she spoke, two letters and a number appeared & faded on either side of her, each in turn:
“This story has been brought to you today---or (heh) rather tonight---by the letters ‘S’… and ‘G’…
and by the Number ‘4.’”
As the music tagged, two signs appeared in front of Luna, each in turn:
“This story has been a production of Hasbro Studios-DHX Media, and Sesame Workshop Incorporated. All Rights Reserved.”
The picture faded to black, followed by the DHX Media logo, the Hasbro fireworks logo, and the PBS logo.
[THE END]
Author's Note
This author respectfully acknowledges the copyrighted characters of Gilda Griffon and Princess Luna to be the properties of Hasbro Studios & DHX Media, and the copyrighted character of Oscar the Grouch to be property of Sesame Workshop Incorporated, and makes no claims whatsoever to ownership of said intellectual properties. This work was produced only for recreational writing purposes as a hobby; not for profit. All Rights Reserved.