Welcome to the Stone Ungulate Hotel
White Talon shivered in anticipation while his pony subordinates rushed around in a frenzy fretting over unnecessary last minute corrections. Once the model of calm professional stability in the chaotic city of New Manehattan, the Stone Ungulate Hotel would face its greatest task.
Hosting the Royal Diarchs of Equestria.
White Talon was no stranger to war. Living in Griffonia meant there were always griffin refugees seeking roost, adventurously stupid ponies arriving seeking adventure and departing with fewer in their party and the local merchant of death Zebricans. War was never a distant concept that happened to other creatures, it was a windago gnawing at the flanks of every creature.
White Talon's daily routine used to start with bribing the less troublesome vagrants with leftover food and thumping the rest to leave the hotel's alleys. Then it was quick flight to the local market to break up the pleasantries that slowed the head chef and haggle for ingredients. Delegating house cleaning duties was surprisingly simple. If there was anything New Mareland ponies were good at, it was keeping things clean.
Afternoons were the quietest. Most guests would leave the hotel to go about their business and those who stayed were typically no trouble at all. It was an opportunity to mingle and gossip in the bar. In busier moments, he would roll up his sleeves, metaphorically of course, and directly serve guests.
Princess Luna's title of Princess of the Night is an understatement. To call her Queen of the Night would merely be tolerable.
The way she marches the general staff into a private conference room with the utmost military precision combined with royal gait is a testamate to her skill and dedication to duty.
It would impugn her reputation to comment on the scent of brandy.
In quieter moments, the time would commonly be spent reading the newspapers. Some would call it unprofessional for one of his position to read publicly but he found it wiser to keep himself available. As quick and hasty as his pony staff were to seek him out for assistance, unruly guests would not wait.
It was the time before dinner that was the busiest. The Stone Ungulate Hotel prided itself on professionalism and this extended to the meals. Fine meats, both fresh and preserved, from a multitude stocked its larders for its carnivorous and adventurous guests. Locally harvested fruits, vegetables and grains, carted and canned, dared to deny culinary repetition.
But even here in New Mareland, Princess Celestia's rumored love for sweets reached the ears of every bakers and confectioners, all of whom stood ready and willing to present their skills whether or not the rumor was true.
To err is ponish, to forgive is griffish.
The act of presenting a stately dinner without the airs of a state dinner is to orchestrate a troupe of chefs and waiters without the guests knowledge. Water is to appear not because it should appear, but because it should always be there. Appetizers should be fleeting, a hint of what is to come. The soup and the salad were perfectly timed when the guest's throats would require lubrication. Dishes should appear and disappear because that is what dishes did.
The main course is the most telling. What guest could resist the aromatic works of the Stone Ungulate Hotel's chefs? What word would steal the attention of the guest? The answer, of course, is duty.
Dessert is also an acceptable answer.
Princess Celestia's personal praise is the greatest accolade a chef could ever receive. Already he could see the beginnings of culinary lineages being established in New Mareland and he felt envy for he could not partake.
It is the duty of the waitstaff to magnify the works of the chefs. It is the duty of the head waiter to magnify the works of the waitstaff. It is the duty of all others to remove themselves from the equation.
The parlor infrequently saw usage. In a city that enjoyed the brisk and brutal art of free market capitalism, private rooms away from prying eyes and ears were preferable. The slow and cold art of diplomacy more commonly took place in public. A demonstration of power and authority. To dare fools into breaching basic etiquette in the eyes of the world.
But the art of the war dared all.
Equestrian ponies may have grown peaceful and complacent under the stewardship of the Sun and Moon, but everygriff that laid their eyes upon those two knew otherwise. The two were warriors and generals in all but name. Victory and defeat, wars and skrimishs were mere parts of a grand plan that was always changing, always adapting and never ending.
Every word spoken held multiple meanings, code words, passwords and common words passed between the two as if they were old friends rehearsing a long forgotten play. A twitch here, a raised lip there spoke magnitudes of the depth of their discussion. The scratching notes of their general staff followed each and every word but it was to no avail. The Princesses shared everything with one another while betraying nothing to everyone.
More than once the hair on his hackles raised but he could not tear his attention away from the two. After all, the art of spying was also part of the game.
The purpose of nightfall depends on where one is at any given time. At home, one would prepare to sleep. At work, one would begin to work the night shift. At the Stone Ungulate Hotel, nightfall would see the morning staff leave while the night staff began their duties of quietly restoring the hotel to the high standards expected.
Not for the first time some of the staff would stay the night. Professionals to the end, the excitement never had an outlet until now.
“Her mane! How does she get her mane to move like that?”
“What about the depth? Staring at those stars is like staring into the night sky! How is that possible?”
“Is this the power of the Sun and Moon? Maybe we can convince her to visit more often?”
“I thought we would have a buffet of leftovers but those flanks demanded it.”
“Ha ha, I will not deny it they are very attractive mares. I wonder if they have ever bedded anypony, or anygriff.”
“Princess Celestia is a thousand years old, is she not? Surely she must have bedded many in her time.”
“You peacocks need to get your minds out of the gutter.”
“Now now, we are still male. It is only natural to discuss their sexual appeal.”
“Hmph!”
Nightfall was also White Talon’s personal time. A ritual his co-workers called it. A reminder he said. A routine his instructor used to say.
New Mareland ponies had it better than they realized. They were jealous of the brand new Muletildas while they had a perfectly good rifle that could hit a target well over 100 meters away. A far cry from the swords and muzzle-loaders he trained with.
Staring at the stars with his old, weathered companions he swore he felt death approach once again.
“Princess Celestia, I am honored by Your presence.”
“The honor is mine, good host. A bit for your thoughts?”
“War is no stranger to Griffonia. But You are. Your sister is. Have You returned to war or has war returned to You?”
“Yes.”
“Then the rumors are true?”
“The world does not understand what We have spent a thousand years concealing. If Our information is correct, We must return. Chrysalis and her changelings are merely in the way.”
“And if Your information is incorrect?”
“Then Equestria will burn again, albeit for a different reason.”
“How long?”
“As long as it takes.”
Dawn was always ambivalent. Watching guests check out brought relief from the reduced workload but also a measure of sadness. The Stone Ungulate Hotel could not generate a profit without guests.
But today brought a different type of sadness. It was but one day but the Royal Sisters would soon be departing for the capital to perform their political duties.
It felt like the entire city had come out to see them off but everypony, and even everygriff, gave them a wide berth without much prompting from the guards.
It was a spectacle and an honor the Stone Ungulate Hotel would immortalize in pictures, paintings and writings.
And in the hearts and minds of the Stone Ungulate Hotel staff.
White Talon sat sipping water. It was an opportunity to indulge but after the events of the last week a clear mind was needed. After all, it was not every day a griffin spy served the Royal Princesses.
