Gildaed Cage 2 - Dances With Timber Wolves AKAME DEC 21ST, 2013


                                            >It's hard to breathe.

                                            >You clamor to pull yourself off the cold floor, but your muscles give out on you.

                                            >When you hit the ground, a searing pain shoots from your left wing, forcing you to stifle a scream.

                                            >As you writhe in anguish, you are able to force open an eye to see your surroundings.

                                            >You're in a large room.

                                            >Bed sheets are sprawled out near you, probably pulled down when you tried to get up.

                                            >Just like the vase now shattered on the floor was.

                                            >There are curtains drawn over windows, but there's no light showing on them, so it's probably nighttime.

                                            >The rest of the room is filled with stuff like statues and…

                                            >Ugh.

                                            >Books.

                                            >Another pang tears through your body, and you instinctively clench your eye shut in pain.

                                            >You begin to panic.

                                            >Wherever you are, it's not someplace you would willingly choose to be.

                                            >Who brought you here?

                                            >What do they want?

                                            >The sound of someone walking resounds through the floor.

                                            >It quickly gets louder, and you soon hear the door to your prison open up.

                                            >You again open your eyes to see some…thing.

                                            >It's tall, probably taller than you are.

                                            >It runs over to you and tries to grab you.

                                            >"Are you ok?"

                                            >You claw at its outstretched hand, trying to keep it away from you.

                                            *Gasp*

                                            "Who- where-"

                                            >Before you can prop yourself up, the thing near you places a hand on your back.

                                            >"Relax, you're safe."

                                            >Safe?

                                            >Yeah right.

                                            >Not as long as those stupid lizards-

                                            >You scramble to look around.

                                            >How did it take you this long to realize the dork trio wasn't there anymore?

                                            >The thing shows concern as you glance back at it.

                                            >"Like I said, you're safe now. Injured…"

                                            >It carefully touches your left wing, sending a dull wave of pain through you.

                                            >You swat away its hand and glare at it.

                                            >It smiles softly at you.

                                            >"…but safe."

                                            >Taking a moment to clear your head, you think about what you can do next.

                                            "Where am I?"

                                            >"My house. I brought you here after, well…"

                                            >Your wing twitches as you remember the fight between you and those dweebs.

                                            >It hurts.

                                            >You look at the source of the pain, and are surprised to see it wrapped in bandages and splinted.

                                            >"Sorry to say this, but you won't be going anywhere like that. You're welcome to stay here though."

                                            >The invitation comes as a surprise to you.

                                            >Why would anyone want a stupid mail griffon to stay at their house.

                                            >You grimace at your own thoughts.

                                            >'Mail Griffon'

                                            >You really are a loser.

                                            >"It's been a long time since I've had guests and- hold on."

                                            >Your host grabs one of the books off of a nearby shelf and reads the cover.

                                            >"Dances with Timber Wolves. Yeah that'll work."

                                            >Work for what?

                                            >He shoves the book into your mouth before picking you up.

                                            >Pain beyond description shoots through every part of your body, and you bite down on the book while screaming.

                                            >You are swiftly carried to the bed and carefully placed down on the soft surface.

                                            >As soon as the pain subsides, you spit out the book an yell at the moron standing over you.

                                            "What the FUCK!? Couldn't you have warned me first?"

                                            >"I could have, but you would have only fought me."

                                            >He's right, you wouldn't have agreed to have some…

                                            "What are you?"

                                            >You can see his eye twitch at your blunt question.

                                            >*Sigh*

                                            >"I'm a human. You don't know what that is, because I'm the only one you've ever seen. Now, let's forget about that…"

                                            >He grabs the blankets off the floor and throws them over you.

                                            >"And let's focus on restoring you back to full health. QUENTIN!"

                                            >The loud yell startles you, but fortunately the covers prevented the human from seeing that.

                                            >By the time you finally wrestle your sheets into a comfortable position, a unicorn has trotted into the room pushing a cart covered in snacks.

                                            >He rolls the cart up to you and begins to pour what you assume is tea into a small cup.

                                            >"Please, help yourself to whatever you like, miss."

                                            >Your stomach grumbles as you look over the food.

                                            >There's cakes, crackers, sandwiches and-

                                            >A familiar scent emanates from the tray in front of you, one you haven't smelled since you got stuck here working your dead end job…

                                            >Meat.

                                            >You drool as you lift a small covering to see a delicious roasted lamb leg.

                                            >There's no way you could ever forget that smell.

                                            >You quickly look back at the human and notice some of his teeth are pointed.

                                            >Of all places, you actually found another carnivore here, in Equestria?

                                            >"It's going to get cold if you don't eat soon."

                                            >Without any hesitation, you grab the lamb and bring it to your beak.

                                            >Chunks of flesh tear satisfyingly off the bone and you savor the taste of prey as it passes over your tongue.

                                            >The first swallow was loud enough for the others to hear.

                                            >You hastily take another bite as the others start to leave.

                                            >Before he closes the door, your fellow predator speaks to you one more time.

                                            >"I almost forgot. My name is Anon. And yours is?"

                                            >Your mouth is too full to respond, the food you are eating is some of the most delicious you've ever had.

                                            >"Ah, nevermind. We can talk later."

                                            "Wai-!"

                                            >He stops closing the door and looks at you.

                                            *Gulp*

                                            >Another helping of lamb enters your stomach, causing you to let out a contented sigh.

                                            "Gilda."

                                            >The eating resumes as Anon closes the door.

                                            >This food is really good.

                                            >You shut your eyes tightly to keep the stupid room from blurring more.

                                            >This food is really good…


                                            >You are now Anon.

                                            >Well, your guest is as interesting as you had hoped.

                                            >She's brash, loud, everything you'd expect from a griffon.

                                            >Really, it will just be nice to have someone to eat meat with.

                                            >…

                                            >There has to be a way to phrase that better, but who cares!

                                            >Ever since you've gotten here, you've had to hide your omnivorous nature.

                                            >There's a bit of a social stigma against eating other creatures' flesh, which has forced you to attend dinner parties consisting solely of salads.

                                            >You shudder, remembering the last royal ball.

                                            >Oh sure, there's other delicacies, like petunias, or poinsettias.

                                            >But you aren't a goddamn horse.

                                            >You're a human.

                                            >And you occasionally need to get some goddamn meat in you.

                                            >…

                                            >Again, really need a better way to say that.

                                            >You enter the kitchen to see Quentin putting away some dishes.

                                            "What do you think of our new guest, Quentin?"

                                            >The last of the dishes levitate to their places and the butler closes the cabinet doors behind them.

                                            >"It's not really my place, but I think she'll get along fine here, Sir. Might I ask how long she'll be staying?"

                                            >You try to adjust your glasses as you ponder the question.

                                            >Sadly, they are still broken, and therefore not on your face.

                                            >Force of habit.

                                            "I'd like her to stay until her wing heals up, but it's really up to her. How quickly do you think she'll recover?"

                                            >Quentin frowns.

                                            >"I'm not sure. Wing injuries are quite serious for flying species such as Griffons. Even with my tea speeding her along, it could be several weeks at least."

                                            >Could be worse.

                                            >Honestly, you're kind of happy to have her staying here.

                                            >Aside from Quentin, you don't socialize much.

                                            >At least, not with others like yourself.

                                            >Most of your time is spent dealing with the p0nies having sex at your book readings.

                                            *Sigh*

                                            >It's getting late.

                                            >Gilda is probably going to collapse after she finishes eating.

                                            >Pretty easy to get tired after such a stressful day.

                                            >You look at your partially healed arm and yawn.

                                            >Very easy.

                                            "Quentin."

                                            >"Sir?"

                                            "I'm going to bed, feel free to take the rest of the night off."

                                            >The stallion bows.

                                            >"Then I shall leave at once."

                                            >A large grin creeps across his face.

                                            >"I have a date with the most beautiful mare."

                                            >You chuckle as Quentin turns to leave.

                                            "In that case, take tomorrow morning off as well. I'm sure you'll need to clean up before coming back to work."

                                            >"It wouldn't be a date otherwise, Sir. Thank you."

                                            >The large door to your house closes behind your butler, leaving you standing in the kitchen alone.

                                            >A regular casanova that one.

                                            >Rather fitting, considering.

                                            >In any case, your bed calls to you across the house.

                                            >It says it wants you inside it.

                                            >You couldn't be more willing.


                                            [The Following Morning]

                                            >Soft sheets drape over your body, their silken grip preventing you from getting out of bed.

                                            >You start to roll over, but a sharp pain halts your motion.

                                            >Oh yeah, your wing is broken.

                                            >Between the food and the soft bed, it almost seemed like all your troubles went away.

                                            >Then again, you were never that lucky.

                                            >As you close your eyes to go back to sleep, a faint smell fills your nares.

                                            >Someone's cooking something.

                                            >Drool leaks from your mouth and wets the pillow beneath your head.

                                            >With a pained groan, you manage to throw off your covers.

                                            >The ensuing rush of cool air makes you shudder.

                                            >You slowly climb out of bed and attempt to walk.

                                            >Each step causes your wing to throb painfully, so you can only move a short distance before needing to stop and rest.

                                            >It takes an eternity, but you eventually manage to reach the door and pry it open.

                                            >As you do so, the smell of breakfast becomes more apparent.

                                            >Eggs and…

                                            >Sausage maybe?

                                            >Definitely more meat though.

                                            >The next room is a hallway.

                                            >There's a bunch of paintings and other junk on the walls, but what really catches your eye is the staircase.

                                            "Freakin'…"

                                            >You mumble under your breath, cursing whatever you did to deserve this punishment.

                                            >Of course, there HAD to be stairs.

                                            >As quickly as the thousands of metaphorical needles piercing your wings will allow, you descend the stairs.

                                            >Hopefully you'll reach the bottom with only one wing broken.

                                            >After yet another eternity, your talons touch the floor and you let out a sigh of relief.

                                            >You sniff the air to find the source of the wonderful smells causing you to lick your chops.

                                            >Step by step, you get closer until you find yourself in a large kitchen.

                                            *Ssssssssss*

                                            >A frying pan on a stove sizzles as beaten eggs are poured into it.

                                            >Anon places some cheese on one side before folding the egg onto itself.

                                            >He waits for a moment before carefully flipping the egg over to cook the other side, eventually sliding the finished omelet onto a plate next to some sausage.

                                            >Boom, called it.

                                            >Your host turns around and finally notices you flooding the corner of his kitchen with your saliva.

                                            >"Well good morning. I didn't expect you to be up so early."

                                            >He pours himself a cup of coffee while looking over his shoulder at you.

                                            >"Did you sleep well?"

                                            >Silently, you nod, still unable to take your eyes off of the food on the counter.

                                            >Anon laughs at your expression, then points to a small table near you.

                                            >"Have a seat, I'll bring you some breakfast."

                                            >You take a deep breath before walking at normal speed to one of the chairs seated around the table.

                                            >Throes of pain course through you, each trying to make you cringe.

                                            >But you'd rather die than look weak in front of someone else.

                                            >Anon watches you, no doubt attempting to see how frail your injury has made you.

                                            >When you make it to the chair, you hop up and sit down.

                                            >Letting out your held breath, an intense agony shoots from your wing.

                                            >You can't stop yourself from reaching to your side and touching the injury.

                                            >Great, now Anon will think you're a freaking cripple or something.

                                            >Fortunately, when you glance in his direction, Anon seems to have already turned around and started preparing your breakfast.

                                            >Maybe he didn't see it.

                                            >After a few minutes, which you spent trying to figure out whether or not Anon saw your momentary weakness, a plate is placed in front of you.

                                            >Scrambled eggs with sausage and toast.

                                            >"Dig in."

                                            >Without a moment's hesitation, you jab your face into the eggs and pull a large gob into your mouth.

                                            >You throw your head back and chomp on the never-born chicken before swallowing.

                                            >Delicious.

                                            >This routine of picking up chunks of food and loudly wolfing them down repeats until theres nothing left on your plate.

                                            >Pushing the plate away, you look at the other person sitting at the table.

                                            >Amazingly, Anon finished his food before you, and is now sipping on a cup of coffee and reading the paper.

                                            >Canterlot Times.

                                            >Is that where you are?

                                            >Guess you were pretty close to Canterlot when you were…

                                            "Hey."

                                            >Anon looks up from his paper.

                                            "What… happened last night? You were the one who tried to stop the dragons, right?"

                                            >You look at your broken wing.

                                            "Nice job, by the way."

                                            >He puts the paper down and takes another drink.

                                            >"Yeah, that was me."

                                            >Regret shows in his eyes.

                                            >"I'm sorry I couldn't stop them from breaking your wing."

                                            "How did you get rid of them? I mean, I could have taken them if they hadn't sucker punched me, but-"

                                            >Anon presses his fingers up the bridge of his nose, like he's trying to push up an invisible pair of glasses.

                                            >You notice the fresh cuts on his arm.

                                            >Claw marks.

                                            >DRAGON claw marks.

                                            "Did you fight them?"

                                            >…

                                            >"Yes."

                                            >He picks up the paper.

                                            "Did you win?"

                                            >"Yes."

                                            >…

                                            "How?"

                                            >Once again, he places the paper down onto the table.

                                            >"I have to go."

                                            >What?

                                            >He stands and starts to leave the kitchen.

                                            >You clamber to stop him, but your injury flares up causing you to wince.

                                            "Wait!"

                                            >For a moment, he pauses in the doorway and looks back at you.

                                            >"Sorry, royalty isn't exactly accustomed to waiting."

                                            >Royalty?

                                            "So we're in Canterlot."

                                            >Anon smiles, again trying to adjust some pair of glasses you can't see.

                                            >"I wouldn't go out in your condition, but feel free to look around the house. If you're going to be staying here, I'm sure it would be nice to know the layout."

                                            >You smirk at him.

                                            "What makes you think I'd stay with you?"

                                            >Despite Anon's attempt to hide his own smirk, you can clearly see the smug look on his face as he starts to walk away.

                                            >"Because you aren't the type to turn down free food. I can't imagine you'd turn down a free stay in a cushy place like this."

                                            >He leaves the house as his exit line ends, leaving you sitting at the table.

                                            >Idiot.

                                            >Just because he has good food and soft beds, he thinks you'll stay here?

                                            >Obviously you will.

                                            >Who would be stupid enough to not take advantage of this situation?

                                            >You climb off the chair and exit the kitchen.

                                            >The floorboards creak under you as you walk slowly down the hall.

                                            >Well, your host was so kind as to let you walk around freely.

                                            >May as well try to dig up some dirt on him.