A slightly strange method

16 down: Does pie throwing take place in the serial? 8 letters. Penny Black, the old earth mare tutted. Second letter was 'p', not that it helped much. She had never been very good at crosswords. She massaged her forehead, deep in thought. She (and everypony in town) had come to associate pies and the throwing of, with a certain lodger at the bakery. Penny stretched her cream-coloured body as she lay behind the counter. Her parents had a slightly cruel sense of humor. It was a slow day in the post office, one only briefly punctuated by the occasional customer and the more frequent growls of frustration from the sorting room. She adjusted her glasses, tempted to go for a quick trot. Perhaps a nice cup of hot coffee upon her return. Coffee made everything better; even Francesca was bearable after a cup of the inky liquid. The bakery (at her request) had started selling coffee to compliment their biscuits. Penny liked biscuits. Her daydream was abruptly ended when a gray mare burst into the post office. It seemed the mailmare had finally arrived.

Ditzy trotted as quickly as was permitted towards the counter, around the various displays of envelopes, coins and stamps. There was nopony in the front of house except her boss, Penny Black. Breathing heavily, she tried to explain: “I am so sorry, so sorry, Miss Black. I... uh- must have overslept. Then I needed to get Dinky off to school an-“

Penny sighed as the mare approached. "Don’t worry about it dear, I’m- I’m used to it. I’ve long given up on trying to run the post office with any scrap of efficiency. Just, just go get your bags from Francesca.” She gestured vaguely to the back room. ”And do try not to upset her; you know how… delicate she can be."

Ditzy gulped, “Has she started? Already?”

Penny nodded. She didn’t like to see others upset, but she was tired. Ditzy was late, she reasoned, and perhaps Francesca's anger might encourage her to turn up on time.

Ditzy slowly trotted into the back room. Light streamed in through narrow windows, illuminating the dust hanging in the air. A large white griffon sat on the floor, surrounded by an explosion of papers. Muttering darkly, she roughly shoved the small papers into the hessian mailbags, occasionally having one of her feathers drift off and join the letters on the floor. Ditzy’s shoes clicked softly against the old floorboards as she approached the sulky griffon. Putting on the biggest grin she could muster, Ditzy greeted her.

"Oh, hello Francesca. How many bags today?"

Francesca growled softly. “Derpy, my name isn’t ‘Francesca’. My name is Fang. You should know that, Penny is always yelling at me to do something-or-other. I'm the only one around here who does a feather of work.”

Ditzy nodded in agreement, attempting to appease the grumpy griffon. Ditzy hated being called ‘Derpy’; it brought back painful memories of her youth. A small part of her couldn’t help but wonder if Francesca did as much work as she told everypony that she did, when so much of the post was still on the floor. Ditzy poked her tongue out at Francesca, trying to remind her it was all in good fun. Poking one’s tongue out at a griffon is never a particularly good idea, even more so if one has a fondness for one’s tongue. Griffons are often foul tempered, seemingly having the worst from the personality of both lions and eagles. They also share the rather unfortunate attribute of some other large feathered creatures: moulting.

Griffon moulting is a month long period for most griffons: for the unlucky ones it can stretch on for many weeks more. Like most birds when moulting, griffons’ moods sour. They become short-tempered, quarrelsome and generally less friendly than usual. It was even written into the constitution of the griffon kingdoms (pointed out to be a misnomer by various scholars), that no law would be passed during the month long period. More liberal employers in the kingdom had been known to make working during this period entirely optional, in protection of both their employees and their property. Sadly for griffons (and everypony else) living in Equestria, the law had not being adopted there as of yet. As one pony explorer who arrived in the middle of the season put it:

“Griffons are possibly the least likable, foul mannered barbarians one will ever meet. Do not ever let them direct you. Fantastically soft plumage though…”

This particular traveler later made a small fortune in Manhattan selling shampoo. Pegasus ponies are in a state of constant moult, yielding a steady supply of quills for the local population.

"Hey, Fr-Fang can you give me a hoof - or is it claw - saddling up?”

Francesca glared at Ditzy the way one does at something one regards with a mixture of contempt and irritation. The grey mare giggled, suddenly feeling very small.

”I can get out of your mane… or feathers sooner.  If you help me."

“Grunt"

" 'Grunt'? Is that a yes? Fang?”

Francesca rounded up on the unfortunate mare. “What is it with you? You just don’t know when to quit.” She paused slightly and continued glaring at Ditzy. “Have you ever seen what griffon claws can do to living flesh?”

“Uhhh… No. Not up close.” Ditzy ruffled her wings, unconsciously taking a step backwards. A soft rustling behind her distracted both the mare and the griffon.

“Francesca. Are you threatening Ditzy again?” Penny had nosed open the door.

Francesca slowly massaged her forehead with her claws, breathing slowly. This was quite a feat, as griffon claws are best described as having the sharpness of scalpels.

"Fine, I’ll help you with your bags. Just... just stand still. Don’t move. Don’t say anything."

Ditzy froze completely still, barely breathing in case that broke the ‘stand still’ rule. Francesca lethargically dragged herself to a standing position, squeezing every possible weary sigh out of her body. She trudged slowly towards the saddle, located in the far corner. Ditzy rolled her eyes. When she had finally completed her marathon and reached the saddle, she proceeded to drag it across the floor towards the mare. Ditzy stared at her curiously, and opened her mouth to voice a suggestion. Francesca was quicker though.

“Derpy, be quiet! Don’t say anything. Nothing at all.”

Ditzy exhaled heavily. The griffon clipped the mailbags onto the frame, tightened the neck strap slightly harder than necessary and stepped back to grimace at her handiwork.

“Thanks Fangy!”

“Fang. I'm not done yet.” The griffon raised from the floor a small blue box, ornately carved with the royal seal emblazoned on its lid. Francesca clipped the box to Ditzy’s harness.

“Remember, you have a special delivery today. You mustn’t, under any circumstance, let out of your sight. Got that? You cannot lose this.”

Ditzy eyed the package suspiciously. There were not any labels on it, no heavy, fragile or bio-hazard warnings.

“What is it, anyway? It’s… it’s not from Blueblood, is it? I still have nightmares about that…”

“No, this one is not from Prince Blueblood. I spent a week trying to clean the… fluids from the ceiling. But you wouldn’t know that, you don’t clean anything. Anyway, these are the invites to the Grand Galloping Gala, from the princesses.”

Ditzy blinked. "Wow! We get to deliver the Invites to the Grand Galloping Gala?"

"Derpy... we are the only post office in Ponyville. How else are they going to deliver the letters? We did it last year."

"We... did?" Ditzy tilted her head to the side, her brow furrowing. Francesca sighed.

“Get outta here, freak."

"Oh, we did deliver the letters last year," Ditzy giggled nervously. "Silly me."

"The door is, uh, over there." Francesca plopped herself on the floor and started sorting the remaining mail.  Feathers continued to join them in the remaining bags.

"See you later!" Ditzy trotted out of the sorting room, humming softly to herself. She had given up on whistling, at least for the moment. She quickly paused to grab her hat of office. The hat was - like everything else in the post office - old, worn out and temperamental. The once-shining copper wings that emblazoned the sides were dented and greening. The blue felt was pale and worn in patches, the silk lining drooped sadly. Ditzy still loved her hat.

“See you later, Miss Black. I probably won’t be joining you for lunch; I have to deliver the mail.”

Penny Black sighed. She had never invited Ditzy to lunch though every day, Ditzy said the exact same words.

“Yes Ditzy.”

“Miss Black, you know you shouldn’t drink too much coffee. It’s bad for ponies.”

“Right you are again Ditzy Doo.”

Ditzy gleefully trotted out the open door, into the bright sun. Penny closed her eyes, letting her head thunk against her paper resting on the counter. Her head started to pound. She needed a coffee. Or four.

While Penny Black made her third cup of liquid gold, a rather unusual visitor entered the post office. Anypony seeing him enter would likely not have given him a second look. He muttered about a small, smoking metal pen as he walked in before stopping and looking around.

“I'm in a post office.”

This rather unusual (though correct) statement was followed by a brief pause. The slight frown that he had been wearing quickly dissolved into a child-like rapture. He slowly walked around the office, peering into the displays of rare coins, photo albums and gift sets that were impersonal enough to be given to anypony. Eventually, the brown pony made his way to the counter. There was a small silver bell sitting on the desk with a hoofwritten note tied around its neck:

“Ring if unattended”

Having no need for assistance, the stallion rang the bell. Or rather, he tried to. He reached for the bell, but with a level of extreme uncoordination usually reserved for the very young or the very ill, knocked the bell clean off the desk. The stallion watched it tinkle to the floor and slowly roll to a stop. A voice yelled from the back room, awakening him from his daydream.

“Be there in a second!”

The stallion looked back to the bell. He tried to pick it up; instead he sent it skidding across the floor and under a set of draws in the corner of the room.

“I- I should get that.”

The stallion trotted to the piece of furniture before dropping to the floor and peering into the darkness under it. Amongst the dust, hair and feathers, the bell glimmered. Just out of reach of the pony. Snorting the dust away, the stallion reached, flailing, under the draws. He tried to force himself closer to the draws with his hind hooves and ended up almost toppling a rather expensive looking display of vintage breath mints. Francesca would have been devastated if the display was ruined; it seemed to her she always had to set them up.

It was in this rather inelegant pose that Penny Black found the brown stallion. She was mildly surprised; if she were any other pony she would have dropped her coffee cup in shock. Working in close proximity to Ditzy and Francesca for an extended period had dulled her to any sense of bizarreness or absurdity. Instead she merely observed the stallion’s rear for a few moments as he scrabbled on the floor. After a moment she quietly coughed. The stallion froze for a second, looking at Penny.

The next moment the stallion was standing upright, awkwardly smoothing his mane.

“Yes uh, hello. I-I rang the bell as the note said, then it rolled under the…”

Penny black stared suspiciously at the nervous stallion who continued to talk. He seemed to have the ability to keep talking for an incredible amount of time without saying anything at all. He simply continued to speak in one long, unbroken sentence. It was quite hypnotic, really.

"That's fantastic. I haven’t seen you before, have I?"

The stallion gulped, "Who, me? Not likely; I’m new in town, just passing through. Official business."

The look this statement received could have been used as a straightedge.

"Uh-huh.”

“Here is my identification. As you will see, I am here on... official business. I’m looking for my blue box that has gone missing.” Having regained some of his bravado, the stallion reached towards his chest. Penny looked at him for a moment as he slowly patted himself, as if looking for an opening. She waved this strange gesture away.

“Uh-huh. That-that won’t be necessary, I just sent out our best mailmare to deliver the box."

"Sorry, I beg your pardon?"

"I, being the manager of the post office, sent our mailmare out to deliver the package. If you are waiting for it, you are going to have to wait like everypony else.”

“Everypony, mailmare! Anyway, how are you holding that cup?”

“Do… you- are you a friend of Ditzy’s?”

“I might be. I'm friends with everyone- everypony, sorry.”

Penny smiled. On rare occasion, one of the mailmare’s friends would wander into the office, looking for her. Most of her friends were as strange (or more so) as her.

"I take it that you would like to actually see Ditzy? She is not here at the moment, you will have to go and find her.”

“Okay... What does she look like?”

Penny frowned. He was definitely a friend of Ditzy.

"Grey, pegasus, bubbles for her cutie mark, please don't ask why because I don't know. She has this... thing with her eyes, you can’t miss her."

"Thing? I love things."

Penny simply stared as the peculiar stallion trotted outside.