“Hey babe...” Morning in Schwarzwald, at the shared home of Gilda sen Electra O'Bald and Trixie Lulamoon. The loving pair had just come out of a hard and painful test of their love and been bound together stronger than ever before. Had they a decision about the kind of ceremony was most appropriate, and if Gilda had been inducted into the clan, they likely already would have been married. At that time, Gilda was preparing breakfast. She didn't do it because she was a hen, but because she was on the chore wheel. It was the mature way to do it. She had pine sap syrup boiling to go over the oaten flapjacks she was making.
“Yes, dear?” Trixie was lounging in the nest, idly tinkering with a bit of wood she was hoof-carving into a wand. Props were always useful in her line of work.
“Uh, you know how I've been doing all that studying on the Roani stuff, the language lessons and the culture and all that?”
“Oh yes, and you have been performing admirably! You grasp the tongue and the ways quite well. It will not be long at all until you are presented to the tribe in triumph and glory!” Trixie leaped up and spun in the air, horn letting off hissing sparks of magical energy.
Gilda gave a laugh and plated the flapjacks, carefully pouring the pine syrup over the two stacks. “Yea, that will be great... you remember how I always talked down my culture? Made fun of all the Eyrie go bragh stuff?”
“Mm, yes, I recall. Not all cultures are as beloved by their holders as the Roani culture.” Trixie sniffed a bit proudly and took the offered plate in her magical grip.
“I've been thinking... you know I'm sort of growing out of a lot of the stupid scat I was doing before I met you. And maybe... it was kinda lame of me to talk down my own culture. Yea, it's bad for hens, and Egg Grabbers, and I'm both, and a lot of the dudes are lame...” Gilda shook her head and took up her fork, cutting at the stack before her. “Anyway... there are still some cool things going on there.”
“Really now? Like what?” Trixie was using her magic to manipulate a fork, cutting into the stack and eating a wedge stack with a small hum of appreciation.
“I... saw the calendar. It was one of those all-purpose ones with all the holidays listed and it looks like King Paddy's Day is coming up quick.”
Trixie raised a brow, swallowing and tilting her head. “'King Paddy's Day'? I have never heard of it.”
Gilda shrugged her shoulders. “I'm not surprised. Most ponies never think about griffin holidays, unless they live close to them. It's really called King Padraigh's Day, but we all just used to call it King Paddy's Day. It's a celebration of High King Padraigh O'Bald, Padraigh the first, the first High King over a united Griffin Kingdom. He was the leader of the alliance that cut down Leoudicca Haast, who rebelled against a unification of the clans.”
Trixie rubbed at her chin and munched on another wedge of flapjacks. “A worthy history to recall, given the length of the Kingdom's existence. Not as long as our great Principality but it has been a long period. How does one celebrate your first high King?”
“It used to be a matter of reverence, telling tales of the old wars, honoring ancestors that had service in the old armies and doing a lot of stuff that celebrated the outfits and music of the era. They figured out that was boring. Plus tourists love cheap merchandise. Now it's all about wearing green and white, waving banners with cláirseach and fáinne Claddagh on them, eating food suited for meat eaters or vegetarians and singing whatever Bald tunes they can remember in between shots of whiskey and pints of stout. At least they started using Capal liquor and spared everybird the horror of nettlebeer and scrub liqueur.”
Trixie had stopped eating. She was staring in disbelief at Gilda. “What? How could you have never told me?!”
“What? What's the matter?” The reaction was certainly not what Gilda had expected. “I told you I was down on my culture because it's lame about hens like me...”
“But this! This is... you know the Roani ways you want to embrace adore and elevate a celebration of that nature! Especially since... it means...” Trixie's shock melted, and she looked aside dejectedly.
“... We have a Kingdom to celebrate and a High King we honor for founding it.” Gilda finished, crossing the nest and hugging up her mare tightly. She knew it was a sore point to Trixie. The Roa were traditionally feared and mistrusted nomads whose homeland was a mysterious and cursed location used mostly for cheap horror movies. “It's alright, grá mo chroí... I'm sorry I never mentioned it. I wish I had. It's sort of cool. You can really get your Griffin on, even if you're a pony. Everyone's a Griffin on King Paddy's Day, or Capal and they pretend,” Gilda noted with a small laugh.
Trixie sniffed but gave a quiet laugh. “When is this joyous celebration? We have bits in reserve to go out and have fun. We need it after... well, after.”
Gilda winced at the memory of what had happened. The Serpent Crown and that cracked-open head on the crazy stallion... “It's this weekend. It's hard to find a celebration unless you go to a border town or some place owned by a griffin. Even the non-Balds will celebrate. They may not rule but they were better off after the unification.”
Trixie considered for a moment, in Gilda's grip. “Our place...”
Gilda blinked, looking down on Trixie. “Our place? You want to have a party here?”
Trixie shook her head. “Where we met. Where we became lovers.”
It suddenly hit Gilda, “That little dive bar run by that snarky bootie! Really? It was such a dump, and I say that knowing it was made to be griffin designed, and that says something about the culture of the Kingdom. Would you want to hang out there again? That guy was kind of a dork.”
“Dork or not, it is a place as you described,” Trixie said, with a bit of her old firmness. “We deserve to celebrate as much as possible. In all our colorful finery.”
Gilda cast her gaze over to the cedar closet that held the attire Trixie had stitched up for the two of them, as part of her ever-active Roani craft projects. “I think... that might be a good idea. I can try to be civil to him.” Trixie glared at her lover, causing Gilda to cough into a talon. “I will be civil to him.”
“I took your suggestions for the construction of your attire. Based on your Bald finery but with my own special touches, of course. You may be Bald now, but soon you will be Roani in heart and law.” Trixie was admiring herself in a full-length mirror, nodding slowly. She was wearing her old cape and sorceress hat. It wasn't their anniversary, but they were going back to the site of their first meeting. She wanted to recall that very clearly. As well, she was wearing a diaphanous skirt in several blue tones shot through with shining enchanted thread. It sparkled in the light or when hit with a mana flash. In motion it recalled nothing so much as Princess Luna's flowing, ethereal mane. She was also loaded down with her usual collection of costume jewels and cheap necklaces. She jangled and shone with every step. On advice from Gilda she had also included a green and white cloth, tied around one hoof.
Gilda studied herself in the mirror, simultaneous mortified and somewhat impressed. The dress hearkened back to the old outfits her father forced her to wear of formal occasions. The high neck was formed of the same filmy and enchanted-threaded material as Trixie's skirt, and it flowed with her movement, to give her the look of Luna's mane. It flowed down into puffed shoulders of green material and into a half sleeve, turned up at her elbow joints to show a bright red on the underside as a contrast. Her midsection was loosely cinched by a green wool bodice with a thick white string. The skirt reached down to the floor and was quite generously folded, the folds almost forming tubes on the surface. The whole green surface of it was hung with well-polished steel and silver chains, hung with polished charms. She jingled and shone all at once. Finishing her look was her brat, the formal cloak secured around her neck by a clasp she had saved from those days. She thought she was being ironic and sneering making it a Claddagh, but it actually meant something after all she had been through. The brat was long, trailing beyond her hind end, as was fitting for both a Bald and a well-placed diplomat's daughter. The main color was King Padraigh's brown, the color of Balds, and it was edged in white. On her head sat a small crown of woven flowers in many colors. “I want to rip it up because my father always tried to show me off to his dweeby friends and their chicks. But you made it so... awesome.”
Trixie posed proudly and gave a smug grin. “But of course. The great and powerful Trixie is crafty in all manners. It was but foal's play to construct such a thing. And it is quite showy and wonderful, exactly what is needed. All that matters is you can still fly us there.”
Gilda extended her wings proudly and gave them a few powerful flexes. “No problem, dude, no problem at all. Let's get going. We should get there quickly so we can celebrate for a while.”
“Yes!” Trixie threw open the front door with a flash of her magic, quickly galloping out. “Let us maximize this opportunity and celebrate our hearts out in the name of her majesty and your new culture!”
Gilda was standing there, stunned, for a moment before she raced out as well with a happy squawk. She struck a pose with her back arched and her wings spread out wide. “Hop on, babe, let's get to partying!”
The two shared a happy laugh as Gilda launched herself into the air, once Trixie had thrown herself across the griffiness' well-covered back. She clung tightly to her powerful love, using a bubble of magic to protect their clothing from wind shear and from the flying debris, not to mention just generally keeping wrinkles from developing. They passed along over the landscape, high in the sky to make the travel as easy as possible. Even as long as it took, they managed to make the time pass with the tight squeezing and the occasional tricks such as barrel rolls and parabolic waves. “I hope the place is entertaining. It was really sort of junky,” Gilda called back at Trixie.
“That is not the point! A true Roa could hold a dazzling celebration in Tartarus and make all around love it.” Trixie shouted forward, using magic to amplify her comment.
Gilda gave a screechy laugh and shook her head a bit. “Tartarus has better ambiance than... that... place...” Gilda was stricken into silence when she focused her eagle eyes down at the spot she expected the small dive to be. What she found, however, was not a dive. The place had expanded, in all dimensions. It was wider, longer and taller, with a brighter sign on the flat roof. There was a cheerful drawing of the Booted's face, along with the face of a unicorn mare with a bright orange coat and dark orange mane. The name beside them was also different. 'Swallow and Aggie's Lunar Tavern.' There was a small tagline under the name, 'You'll be over the moon after just one drink!' Even from high in the air there was a clear thump of bass, as well as a few folks in the yard in front of the place, either leaving or newly arrived, their inactivity made it unclear. “Screech and squawk! That little Booted really changed things up!”
“It hardly seems like the same place! But this is better! We can certainly have fun now!” Trixie practically hummed with anticipation, pulling on Gilda's body to try and 'steer' her to the ground.
“This is...nuts...” It was no illusion. Gilda hit the ground and looked up at the three-story building. It was much larger than she remembered, and far cleaner. The milling folks were revealed to be ponies wearing attire in green and while. They looked on Gilda with some surprise before giving a soft cheer and some appreciation of her elaborateness.
“Wonderful!” Trixie leaped off of Gilda's back, running eagerly up to the doors and throwing them open. The frosted glass of the doors had given no indication of what may have been within, which was far different from the memory of what it had been. Rather than a small space with a tired, sagging appearance and dirty look about it things were simple and earthy, while still being clean. The floor was solid, unpolished stone, while the walls were irregularly-hewn pieces stuck together with mortar. All along the walls as decorations were Griffin cultivation and harvest implements as well as models of hunting gear and classical weapons. There was even the talon pike that had been used to get Trixie and Gilda out of the bar the previous time hanging over the bar. The bar was newly made of aged, darkly-stained wood, still with a brass rail on the customer's side. The stools looked like sturdy cold iron things topped with padded seats in traditional Griffin colors. Behind the bar was a good, large mirror as well as rows of liquor with recognizable names and quality. The tables were all matching, and set out around by the walls to give plenty of passage space to what could only be wait-staff. All griffins or hippogriffs. A staircase led from behind a wall by the entrance foyer to the second floor, while at the far side of the room was a stage, occupied by a band of griffin and hippogriff musicians.
The place was well-occupied; not packed crushingly tight but it had a fair collection. The clientele was quite diverse, from expected griffins and hippogriffs to Changelings, Diamond Dogs, a buffalo cow at a corner table with a mustachioed earth pony, and even more ponies of all sorts. That even included a mix of unicorns, pegasi and earth ponies wearing silver barding in the manner of Lunarian royal guards. All were quite going along with the band, who were singing and playing their hearts out. “Then Paddy O'Wedgetail ducked his head/ When a bucket of whiskey flew at him!/ It missed, and landing on the bed/ The liquor scattered all over Tim!/ Uisce beatha did the corpse new life once more,/ And he leaped like a great cat from the bed,/ Sayin' “Tossin good whiskey 'round like a traitor,/ Thanum an Discord, ye think I'm dead?!”/ Whack fol' the dah will ya dance to your partner/ Round the floor your flappers shake/ Bend your neck to the truth they tell ya,/ Lots of fun at Feathergan's wake!”
“Am I seeing things or did this place get a serious upgrade?” Gilda just blinked at the interior, moreso when she and Trixie were approached by a hippogriff hen, her griffon parts Bald, while the pony parts that showed through were a pale pink.
The hen held up two menus and smiled at the pair. “And a fine day t'you, ma'ams. Two fer dining or at the bar?” She spoke with a strong brogue, as some of the Balds from the Kingdom tended to.
Trixie responded when it became clear Gilda was too surprised by it all. “The bar. We came to celebrate and we will.” Sotto voce she spoke firmly to Gilda, “If you will be Roani you will take shocks in stride, and be happy when the surprises are joyous and not arson.”
“Off to it, then,” The hen said, waving in the direction of the bar. “Yer in luck today, Mister Swallow himself'll be serving you.”
The couple walked off towards the bar, Gilda shaking her head lightly. “A Bald, even a hippogriff, would never say 'Mister' about a Booted in the Kingdom, boss or not. And that would never happen, not the way they stacked it back there.” Both took a seat on one of the stools, casting eyes up and down the bar.
“Ladies, I welc-” The jovial greeting stopped cold as the greeter saw Gilda and Trixie. Swallow, the thin and pale booted eagle griffin. Before his surprise he had looked extremely cheery, a far cry from the world-weary cynic that had been running a dive. “You two...” though he ostensibly spoke to both he was staring right at Gilda. “And Padraigh's brown. I saw it coming.”
Gilda stared back at him, the steely gaze of a superior. “Are we going to do this the usual way?”
Swallow nodded his head with a grimly determined look. “We'll never be able to go on if we don't.”
After taking a breath and releasing it as a puff Gilda sharply said, “Bootie.”
Swallow responded with, “Cydio wy.”
Gilda scoffed. “You... gotta make it hurt because you can?”
“I'm actually impressed, Bald. Never seen a rich bird's daughter that knew Booted.” Swallow stroked his beak with a look of shock.
“I know every dialect's way of calling me an Egg Grabber. We good now?” Gilda held out a talon.
“We're good.” Swallow shook the offered talon. “Swallow mac Shrike Cheddar.”
“Gilda sen Electra O'Bald.” She looked curiously at Swallow. “Cut that name right off of you. That's a pony last name. And you took hers. You've really gone native, haven't you?”
“Wouldn't have it any other way. I'd be a fool to turn it down.” Swallow suddenly cupped his talons on either side of his beak and called out, “Aggie! Come down to the bar.” That done, he turned to Trixie. “And your mare? I thought you'd be lying in a heap by the side of the road.”
“'Her' mare? I belong to myself! Impudent griffin! Just as classless as you were before.” Trixie sniffed condescendingly, but broke into a small smile. “The great and powerful Trixie Lulamoon. Her fiancee, until she is inducted into my clan.”
Before Swallow could reply he was joined by his wife Aggie, the orange mare from the sign. “Here I am, whatcha... great day in the mornin'! It's those two again.” She spoke with her usual Equestrian Lakeland accent, and was dressed in a green and white waitress outfit, more central Equestrian than Griffin. “Jeepers, I thought ya were gonna blow yerselves up, there.”
“Nearly happened...” Gilda muttered, with a wry smile. “But we managed. Looks like you grabbed this little bootie creeper. When did that happen?”
“Day ya flew off after all that action.” Aggie said proudly, nosing in against Swallow.
“Great, now we gotta share our place and our anniversary with this guy. That's just perfect.” Gilda grunted after her grumble, being elbowed in the side by an annoyed Trixie. “Fine. I guess that's cool. What's with the name? I get it's the two of you but what's with the 'Lunar' thing? This doesn't look like the moon. Looks like a high-end Bald place, actually.”
“The money... well, almost all of it, a big, big piece of it came from Princess Luna's Third Canterlot Guard detachment using the place as a canteen regularly. They didn't mind the look and they tipped.” Swallow looked over to the small knot of Royal Guards and grinned.
“We think it was when we were in Canterlot before the wedding. We had a fight in a bar with some rough customers, donchaknow? But these three fancy unicorns helped us. I think two were models, one was a maid. Musta been a palace maid, and gave her our card.” Aggie said.
“Our phuri daj is most generous and kind. We both know well her mercy and generosity,” Trixie said, leaning against Gilda's side with a smile.
Swallow looked at the romantic gesture and grinned, holding a talon out for a bump. “Now that's a good time, right?”
Gilda scoffed, but unenthusiastically bumped talons. “Sure, sure...”
“So, you're Roani, are you, dear? Well, that's nice,” Aggie said with a tight smile. “Sorry if that sounds bad. I was raised how I was raised, donchaknow. But if her majesty got us this nice place, well, that's all I need ta know.”
“Seriously, dude, this place is something else. Three-floor restaurant?” Gilda looked around with a nod.
“First floor is additional seating and a second bar. Second floor is where we live. It is huge, fully appointed and even has room for both a nest and a regular bed.” Swallow puffed his neck feathers proudly. “Pony construction is so much easier to handle than Griffin construction.”
“Okay, maybe I'm ready to believe this place is where things are really, really good.” Gilda tapped on the bar and wrapped an arm around Trixie. “Set 'em up. Pint and a drop of the craythur.”
Both Aggie and Swallow set to work, Aggie pulling the handle on two taps with her magic, pouring out two streams of dark brown stout into carefully angled pint glasses. She stopped and started several times, to maintain a large, impressive head. Swallow did not need such care. He doled out two glasses of the requested liquor, but held back until the stout was ready. “And don't worry, bald, it's all Capal.”
“Bootie, you know how to push.” Gilda toasted Aggie and Swallow with both of her drinks. “But I'm growing up.”
“Baxt hai sastimos tiri patragi!” Trixie hit her shot and gave a small gasp, drinking a sip of her stout, ending up with a foam mustache. “O manusha khelevan tut.”
Swallow tilted his head, and Aggie twitched an ear. She asked, “What was that, there?”
“'I wish luck and good health.' 'The others make you dance.' I toast you, and say that I find this location nice.” Trixie replied, with another sip of her stout.
Gilda leaned in and licked off the foamy mustache, grinning saucily as she did so. “And she doesn't say that about many places.” Gilda hit her shot and then a chug of stout.
Swallow poured two more shots, giving one over to his wife and holding the other one up in a toast. “Shall we ignore the house band and do up 'Rosin the Beau'?”
Gilda laughed at the suggestion, and the tickle of magic that came as Trixie levitated off the foam mustache and passed it into her mouth. “A bootie singing up a Bald song?”
Swallow motioned to Aggie who toasted with her shot and said, “Everyone is Bald on King Paddy's day.” She hit the shot and sucked in a hard breath, adding, “Or Capal and pretend.”
Gilda let out a skree of delight and pushed her glass forward for another shot. “'Johnny at the door.' We'll be joining the chorus.” She turned to Trixie and said, “It's 'I'll drink from dusk 'til dawn, I'll drink a toast to day's end. Yes, I'll drink from dusk 'til dawn, I'll drink to the health of me friends.'”
Swallow cleared his crop, and motioned Aggie to join Trixie and Gilda on the chorus before he started to sing, “Johnny woke with an ache in his head. Bad dreams had made him ill./ And he grumbled as he dressed, despite his duress, as he made his way to the mill./ Well he never wanted to work that day, but the forebird had made himself clear./ So Johnny dreamed of the eve to come when he'd drink him beer after beer. Singin'...”
Aggie, Gilda and Trixie joined in with Swallow, singing their hearts out, “'I'll drink from dusk 'til dawn, I'll drink a toast to day's end. Yes, I'll drink from dusk 'til dawn, I'll drink to the health of me friends.'”