(1,053 words. Not too bad for a start. Current: 1,053. Goal: 48,947) The Drunken Equine was as it always was on a Friday night; ponies from the local town crowded the room, sharing stories and roars of laughter about their week. Stallions would try to impress the waitresses in hopes of getting more than a beer or two, most of them making fools of themselves for the rest of the bar to laugh at. There wasn’t much diversity in the crowd; many of the ponies around were either coal miners or rock farmers, oftentimes both. There was still always a table in the far back corner that was reserved, though. The town’s guards, though guarding the town from what, nopony knew, were the only non-equines in the town of just over one thousand. They only numbered around a dozen or so, but their presence still struck fear like nothing else could. Even the two griffins that ventured to the bar every week ushered in silence, coupled with turned heads, when they walked through the door. Nobody nodded to them, greeted them in any way, but just watched as they came in and took their seat towards the back. The silence wore off over time, though the roars of laughter were replaced with hushed whispers. The bartender looked towards the table, the larger griffin, a dark brown, nodding to him. They were regulars, despite the differences in race an duties, but their orders were still the same- two hard ciders kept filled to the brim and a tray of pork (specially made for them, of course). The two mumbled to each other, looking over the crowd. They saw a pony or two glance their way with either fear or hatred, but it was nothing new. They eventually relaxed, swapping their own stories with each other. The rest of the bar relaxed with them; there wouldn’t be trouble, not tonight. It didn’t take long for the griffin’s meals to come out; they had ventured to the Drunken Equine for almost a year now, and making their orders was basically filly’s play for the bartender. The two griffins watched as one of the young mares grabbed the tray from the counter and weaved masterfully through the crowd. She smirked and joked back when a group of colts made a comment in her direction, then without missing a beat moved towards the griffins. “Back again boys?” She asked, sending a wink to the smaller, younger griffin. She giggled a bit when she saw him suppress a grin. “Well, I’ve got your usual. Can’t say I’d be able to stomach this stuff, myself,” she said, dropping the plate of pork in front of the two griffins. The larger griffin didn’t respond, ripping a piece of meat off of the plate, looking it over before biting into it. The younger one kept his eyes on the mare, taking a sip of his cider. “I can’t say I’d enjoy eating hay and grass myself.” He chuckled quietly. “You’re looking well, Clover.” The mare flashed a smile. “Just had my mane redone. One of those fancy Canterlot folk passed through a day or so ago; figured a little trim-up would look nice.” She shook her head, looking the griffin over. “But you! Same old leather, same shaggy gray feather-head. Heck, I could even fix you up better than those military dogs could.” The larger griffin growled lowly. “Don’t you have somewhere better to be?” he mumbled quietly. Clover looked taken aback for a moment, her surprise turning to anger. “Well, excuse me for having an opinion.” She turned back into the bar. “I didn’t think those would be outlawed so soon.” The young griffin watched her leave, waiting until she was out of earshot. “What the heck was that all about? Do you know how hard it is just to get a decent conversation out of any of these ponies, Geode?” The larger griffin, Geode, slammed his drink down on the table, sending another wave of silence across the bar. “Dang it, boy, that’s Captain Geode. And show some class, Private.” He took a long sip of cider. “Besides, you’re a griffin; act like one.” “You’re only Captain when on-duty, sir. And I have a name, too.” He added quietly into his mug. Geode sighed. “Alright, fine. Private Gatsby, you’re to report back to base in five minutes. That’s an order.” He pulled another piece of meat from the plate, biting into it as he rose out from the table. “And no dawdling. I want claws on the ground the moment I get back.” Gatsby sighed, downing the last of his cider. Geode watched silently as the young griffin looked longingly at Clover, laughing with another group of customers. As long as he had been here, the Private was still just a kid, with all of the false hopes and dreams that it was Geode’s job to contain. The bartender looked quietly over to Geode as he approached, no smiles or greetings being exchanged. “I already paid the taxes for the month. I don’t owe anything,” he said, pulling out a keg and placing it on the counter. Geode rested a claw on the bar, flourishing his talons. “Sorry, but we have orders from higher up. They need another fifty bits, no exceptions.” The bartender turned to the griffin, anger and frustration in his eyes. “And the next week they’ll want the entire pub, I suppose? For Celestia’s sake, you and that-“ “Watch your tongue, now. You know what the law says,” Geode cut in. The bartender’s eyes locked with the griffin’s. “Two years ago I could have very well travelled around the entire world with what I had. Now I can’t even say her name without being threatened?” The entire bar grew silent. “You tell those meat-loving higher-ups you keep kissing up to, to show their faces here and tell me that I have to sell my soul.” He spat at the griffin, hitting him in his eye. “Now get out of my pub. Your kind is no longer welcome here.” A mixture of cheers and taunts rose through the bar. A mug or two was thrown at the griffin, and though a sharp hiss stopped the projectiles, the entire drunken crowd still jeered at the Captain as he flew into the sky towards the camp along the rim of the town.
Posted on: Sat, 31 Aug 2013 04:35:49 +0000
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