Griffon on the Rocks (Anon x Gilda)


                                            > An intense staring contest

                                            > An eye feud, perhaps

                                            > A pupil pummeling

                                            > A sclera scuffle

                                            > An... Okay, you get the idea

                                            > Two creatures were locked in a rigid, unblinking war of the eyes

                                            > One, a lanky human male with his elbows propped against a slightly-too-low countertop, fingers interlaced upon which rested his scraggly chin

                                            > A toothy grin spread wide across his face and it was all he could do to keep from sniggering like a fool

                                            > The other creature was a mythical legend; its front, of beak and talon; its rear, of lion's tail and paw

                                            > Two feathery wings sprouted from either side and were poised as if to kick up a great wind in the tiny bar the human male maintained on his own

                                            > At seven o'clock in the evening, it was a strange sight that a bar smack-dab in the middle of one of the more populated portions of Ponyville was as empty as it was, but the rampaging griffon inside might have had something to do with that

                                            > Curious onlookers could be seen passing by, eyes widening in fear at the tense atmosphere that threatened to leak out of the place any second

                                            > The griffon looked as if it were ready to rip the man to shreds, her eyes narrowed into serpentine slits and her feathers fluffed up in an adorably "oh shit but also damn that's really cute" kind of way

                                            > Her eyes were filled with hate and her talons clicked aggressively against the wood floor beneath her, the only real sound to be heard from the room at the moment

                                            > Neither side looked to be ready to back down

                                            > After a few more minutes of stalemate, the man clicked his tongue

                                            > "Do you want me to guess why you-"

                                            > The griffon held her clawed hand in front of the man and cocked her head to the side, her honey eyes taking a great interest in anything but the speaker

                                            > "Can it, loser. Not. Another. Word."

                                            > A few more moments of what appeared to be another draw passed, but it was broken suddenly with horrific cries of mirth as the man fell to the ground in comical fashion, clutching his stomach and guffawing at the griffon's expense

                                            > "R-really? Another one? I mean, come on Gilda, you've got to be good at SOMETHING right? Want me to give you a couple of suggestions? You could-" he gasped through another fit of laughter, "-be a little league mascot! Do they even have that here? What's the pony equivalent of football gotta be? Hoofball? You could be a hoofball team mascot! Better yet, you could be a shitty Halloween decoration! 'Mommy, can I take a picture with the bird-kitty???' How many has it been now? Eleven? Eleven different jobs and not a single one you could keep for more than a week?"

                                            > With every pointed remark, Gilda's anger grew rapidly and her beak filed back and forth against itself in frustration, her tail lashing violently behind her against the floor with soft thumps

                                            > In an instant, she cleared the (rather short) distance between her and the man and reached over the counter to hold him up by his collar, her face dangerously close to his

                                            > "DIDN'T I TELL YOU TO CAN IT? IF ANOTHER SMART REMARK COMES OUT OF THAT STUPID FACE OF YOURS, I'M GONNA PUT MY FIST THROUGH IT!"

                                            > Even in the face of obvious peril, the man couldn't help but seize up in laughter, his legs kicking uncontrollably beneath him as he continued his humour-filled antics

                                            > "Yeah, you look like you'd enjoy fisting with that little hairdo you've got and all. Maybe you should try getting a job as an escort, huh? Do they have those here? You could be the 'Feathered Fister'. Shit, I'd better get that trademarked."

                                            > In a wild fury, Gilda cocked one of her fists back, which actually shut the man up, only for her arm to hang limply at her side moments later

                                            > "Oh, what's the point. Even if I do clean your clock, it's not going to make me feel any better. Well, maybe it will - actually, I know it will - but it won't get me a job."

                                            > Gilda set the human back down onto the ground and backed away from the counter, her uncharacteristically dejected expression giving the man a brief pause in his smiles and japery

                                            > "...This really has you torn up, huh?" After straightening his clothing and dusting himself off, the man had leaned up against the countertop again and shot Gilda a look of concern

                                            > The griffon snapped back at him. "Of course it does! Do you know how bad this looks on me? Me, a huge, awesome, totally cool griffon having a harder time finding steady work than an ALIEN from another world? Seriously, how does that even happen?"

                                            > "Well, for starters, you could use a little attitude adjustment. The whole 'middle-school skateboarding bully' schtick is kind of tired, and you're living in a world full of stupid little tropes like that."

                                            > The confusion in her face was apparent but after a little bit of thinking, her face screwed up in a scowl and she slammed a clawed fist against the counter

                                            > "Are you saying I'm NOT the coolest griffon you've ever met? Because I definitely am. You should count your blessings that I'm even TALKING to a dweeb like you."

                                            > "That's exactly what I'm talking about, birdshit. You've got to cut that movie dialogue out of your vocabulary and pick those feathers out of your ass." A mug in his hand, the barkeeper set about polishing his wares to keep his hands busy, lest they scratch his chin raw from utter disbelief

                                            > "'Movie dialogue'?" He'd once again confused the poor girl with human jargon, a thing he did often

                                            > "Don't worry about it. The important thing is that you need to stop acting like a child and start acting like an adult, because that's what the working world is - a bunch of adults with the brains to know that you don't talk to coworkers or bosses the way you talk to me and just about everyone else and expect to keep a job."

                                            > Gilda puffed up a little more indignantly and pounded the countertop again, threatening to knock over some shot glasses near the edge of the counter

                                            > "WELL-" She began, but it was clear that Gilda knew better than to argue with the stone-solid facts being laid out in front of her. It was true: she was sort of a bitch when it came to working with others. Her employment opportunities had once been a vast ocean stretching to the horizon, her being relatively strong and having wings and all

                                            > Word had gotten out that she was quite the psychopath, however, and numerous little incidents here and there led to her being known throughout town as a 'terrible hire' and 'quite possibly the worst creature [I] have ever met', much to her disdain

                                            > She was, of course, the coolest griffon she knew, and found it quite hard to believe that anyone would refuse to put up with her 'awesomeness.'"

                                            > Facts didn't lie though, and after the seventh or eighth job she'd lost it was clear that she lacked something that normal creatures had

                                            > It ate away at her confidence little by little, until even the tiniest of things could throw her into a feathery rage

                                            > Once, it was a pony who had eaten his lunch on break a little too loudly for her liking

                                            > Another time, a customer complained to her that her food was taking a little too long

                                            > In short, Gilda had been in and out of jobs for so long she was starting to believe it was going to be impossible for her to make a living for herself

                                            > The sparing few money she had to her name, pocket change she'd stolen from her parents before leaving her hometown, had almost run out

                                            > She would be homeless if she didn't find another job within the week

                                            > It was starting to look kind of hopeless, really


                                            > You are anon, the barkeep

                                            > It was one of your lesser fantasies, to own a bar and serve drinks in a cool sort of way

                                            > Slinging a 'whiskey on the rocks' down the counter to a cool stranger who told you tales of intrigue and drama and personal tragedy

                                            > All the while, you would clean the same mug for upwards of forty minutes, offering level advice and telling the man 'You've had a little too much' before setting him on the right path again

                                            > Unfortunately, alcohol was in rather short supply in Ponyville, if it were in supply at all

                                            > When you'd arrived months ago (through a portal or someshit, who fucking cares), it was one of the first things you asked about

                                            > 'Spicy liquid that burns your throat and makes an ass out of you' didn't seem to be something ponies were too interested in, though

                                            > So here you sat, the effective owner of a non-alcoholic bar that served shittier versions of drinks you knew all to well back home

                                            > Seriously, what in the fuck is a 'Blue Stagecoach'?

                                            > A 'Cosmoponyton'?

                                            > What about a 'Grin and Tonic'?

                                            > Strangely enough, the 'Moscow Mule' was actually a thing here and relatively similar to its parallel counterpart, minus the vodka and all

                                            > You were actually the co-owner of this little establishment, but the stallion who hired you, Stiff Drink, was on a semi-permanent vacation after a nasty slip on a banana peel or something last month

                                            > You swear, shit like that only happens here

                                            > Needless to say, you were put in charge of the bar, 'The Last Bit', for the time being

                                            > It really wasn't a bad gig, considering room and board was included (you had a little cellar room with a decent sized bed and some utilities, including plumbing)

                                            > Most of the regulars that came in you knew by name and (virgin) drink, and you spent most of your time practicing your whistle or polishing horse slobber off your glassware

                                            > Gilda, however, was a special case

                                            > One of the first things you said when you arrived in Ponyville was

                                            > "Is that a fucking griffon?"

                                            > And a fucking griffon it was, for she was quick to tell you so with a lot of posturing and smirking and undeserved swagger

                                            > She tried to bully you or something and called you a bunch of goofy middle-school names like 'dork' and 'loser' but it kind of went over your head considering who, or what, it was coming from

                                            > When you laughed in your face it sort of put her on a doomsday timer and from then on she made it her personal responsibility, rain or shine, to try to bully you in some way, shape or form

                                            > It was kind of cute honestly, and you pointed that out often, much to her stuttering dismay

                                            > She was pretty easy to deal with - just ignore her and say something to catch her off guard

                                            > One time you even wrote a poem for her, and you went into excruciating detail about how the sunlight reflected the golden beauty of her eyes for about two seconds before she shot off like a rocket in the opposite direction, a stuttering, blushing mess

                                            > If you didn't know yourself any better, you'd say you had a little crush on her

                                            > Or maybe she did you

                                            > Too bad you don't fuck animals

                                            > Another little quirk of hers was that she always seemed to come bothering you, usually while you were at work, when she got fired from a job

                                            > Since you'd been in Ponyville, it was almost a weekly occurrence that she was extra-annoying to you, complaining about some incident at work that you always half-listened to

                                            > You'd nod and say 'uh-huh' and she would prattle on about it, which was absolutely always something she brought upon herself some way or another, until she got angry realizing you weren't actually listening

                                            > Then she'd spit out some generated insult and slam the door on her way out

                                            > You've had to fix that door a few times because of how aggressive she was with it, but it didn't really bother you since it wasn't really a hard fix, what with virtually every and any kind of talent and resource around somewhere in town

                                            > Speaking of Gilda, it was now her eleventh time storming into the bar, screaming at you, you getting the best of her and her throwing a fit likewise

                                            > This time, though, she wasn't as much of a good sport as she usually was

                                            > The look on her face told you that she was just about on the verge of desperation, and you weren't enough of an asshole to miss that

                                            > A long, steady silence had settled since your little speech about her changing her tune, and Gilda was awkwardly clawing at the ground, playing tic-tac-toe with herself from the looks of it

                                            > That's not coming out of the wood, is it?

                                            > You clear your throat

                                            > "Ahem. Gilda, you got something you want to share with the class?"

                                            > Startled out of her depressed stupor, she began sputtering some comically childish insult out before she caught herself and promptly adjusted her attitude

                                            > "...No. You'd just make fun of me again, like you always do."

                                            > You're tempted to point out that most of what she does when she talks to you IS make fun of you, but you hold your tongue

                                            > "Nah, I've got it all out of my system now. Tell me seriously - do you actually WANT a job?"

                                            > She looks up at you, claw caught in the middle of drawing up another tic-tac-toe pattern on the adjacent floorboard

                                            > "Well duh! What do you think I've been TRYING to do?"

                                            > "Clearly not keep one, that's for sure. That's not what I'm asking. I'm asking you if you want to work here."

                                            > Another insult was loaded in her throat, but was swallowed back by the seriousness in your voice, which seemed to give her a moment of thought

                                            > "You want ME to work for YOU?" Her expression was a mixture of insult, disgust, disbelief, and just a tiny smidgen of hope

                                            > "Yeah. No jokes, this is forreal. I'll talk to the bossman at his vacation home across town or whatever and see if I can get you on doing... something."

                                            > You look around, scratching your head as you try to think of something for her to do

                                            > "What do you think you'd be good at? Washing dishes? Mixing drinks?" A sly look falls across your face. "...Entertaining lonely stallions?"

                                            > She had been seriously considering the options you laid out for her, but the last one clearly caught her off guard and her feathers ruffled along her neck, a cherry blush cresting her cream-white cheeks

                                            > "W-what? Do you HONESTLY think that's something I'd do?? You're out of your mind, man. I don't need a job THAT badly, and I-I never would-"

                                            > You hold a hand out in front of you, pinching the bridge of your nose with the opposite hand

                                            > "Gilda, it was a joke - admittedly in poor taste, but a joke nonetheless. I'm serious though, what could you see yourself doing here?"

                                            > She huffed, her previously outstretched wings finally taking a place at her sides

                                            > Her lion tail thumped the ground nervously, betraying the 'That's assuming I'd ever work for you in the first place, doofus' that came out of her mouth in response

                                            > "Okay, so anything to do with talking to customers is off the table." You check off a box on an imaginary clipboard and Gilda glares daggers at you

                                            > "What, are you saying I couldn't do your job better than you?"

                                            > You offer her a raised brow and cross your arms

                                            > "That's not what I was saying at all but, now that you've brought it up, I know for a fact you couldn't do my job better than I can."

                                            > You're surprised when, out of nowhere, Gilda's clawed hand extends out in front of you, saliva glistening from between her digits (ew)

                                            > When did she do that?

                                            > Gross

                                            > "Shake on it then. Let me take over tomorrow, and I guarantee you I'll give these losers the best customer service they've never had!"

                                            > You eye her moistened hand with mild disgust and push it away

                                            > "I'm not shaking on shit, but I'm going to be the first one to laugh in your face when you royally screw this up tomorrow."

                                            > Dissatisfied, Gilda wipes her hand against her furred barrel and fixes you with a cheeky smirk

                                            > "You're ON, dweeb."

                                            >

                                            >

                                            >

                                            > "...How long has it been?"

                                            > "Ten minutes, Gilda. It's been ten minutes since I let you behind the counter. Don't worry about me, or the time - just do your best. Make sure that your best is better than all those other times though, for fuck's sake."

                                            > It had truly been only ten minutes as impromptu barkeep and already Gilda was losing her cool

                                            > At 8 in the morning, when the bar opened, there wasn't even a soul in yet. The usual crowd started to flood in around just after noon or so for their usual lunchtime cravings and whatnot

                                            > You assumed since there were no coffee or espresso machines lying around in the building that ponies typically went elsewhere to start their busy mornings

                                            > Yet here this massive, hulking griffon was, shaking like a leaf in a hurricane

                                            > You clasp her withers with a firm hand, causing her to whip around on the spot with a 'H-hey, watch it!'

                                            > Typical

                                            > "Gilda, you've gotta relax. You're not going to be able to serve any drinks with those Parkinson's shudders you've got. Take it easy, there hasn't even been a-"

                                            > At that moment some stallion you've never seen before passes through the wooden double doors and makes his way slowly up to the counter

                                            > You decide to take a backseat and slink away to the far corner of the bar's back wall, leaning up against it and stuffing your hands in your pockets in some attempt to fade into the background

                                            > Gilda should at least be able to handle her first customer; you've shown her everything she needs to know

                                            > How to take orders, how to mix drinks, how to operate the register, etc.

                                            > You were very deliberate and methodical in how you taught her, and made sure she parroted everything you did at least twice before you moved on to the next thing, much to her frustration

                                            > 'I'm not a baby, I've got it!' she would scream, proceeding to then struggle to mimic what you'd shown her only seconds earlier, which amused you greatly

                                            > "W-welcome to 'The Last Bit', where we... uh..." The stallion fixed her with a curious look and as she trailed off she turned her head to the side to search wildly around with her eyes for you, or so you thought

                                            > She finally saw you and sort of jerked her head towards the guy a few times, clearly asking for your help

                                            > You shrug your shoulders and mouth 'You got this' in her direction

                                            > She frowns and huffs a frustrated sigh before turning back around

                                            > "...Where we serve drinks and... stuff?"

                                            > The stallion raises a brow at the vague description of the bar's services before he sidles up to the counter and takes a seat on one of the barstools, taking one of the plastic menus in his hooves and leafing through it

                                            > He was a subdued cerulean with a darker blue mane, and his cutie mark wasn't visible but you could've sworn you'd seen the guy around somewhere before

                                            > He clears his throat, shifting Gilda's attention from glaring at her claws on the ground to glaring at the poor guy, who shrank back noticeably under her scrutiny

                                            > "H-hey there, didn't know they had any griffons working here in Ponyville now. You new around town?"

                                            > Gilda stood up on her hind legs and crossed her arms, which didn't help to make the tiny stallion (compared to her) feel any more comfortable

                                            > "What, have you been living under a rock? I've been hanging around this dump for almost two months now, and you must be blind if you've never seen an awesome, crazy-cool griffon strutting around." She seemed satisfied with herself and dropped back down to all fours, which would have served to make the stallion feel a little less on edge had he not been insulted just now

                                            > "O-oh." is the reply he squeaked out, and he buried his nose further into the menu, at a distance which surely he couldn't actually read any of the menu's items

                                            > A few seconds later, however, he cleared his throat again

                                            > "Could you tell me what's in this here 'Virgin Larry'?"

                                            > Gilda shrugged

                                            > "I dunno. Maybe some fish guts, or some ape brain." She snickered to herself and you rolled your eyes in her direction

                                            > What a fucking child. Was that supposed to be funny?

                                            > The stallion's eyes widened like saucers and he lowered his face back to the menu without a word

                                            > He spoke up again after a few more minutes of relative silence

                                            > "I-I'll just have a water..."

                                            > Gilda sighed and began to search the counter for a mug, taking up the stallion's menu and sliding it neatly into a stack of them just below the countertop

                                            > With a deftness only a creature with opposable thumbs could muster, she very quickly pulled a decanter of room-temperature water from a shelf of drinks on the back wall and poured the mug right to the brim, though she managed to keep from spilling a drop in the process, which got a brow raise from you

                                            > She might actually make for a decent bartender if she can get that attitude under control

                                            > She slid the decanter back onto the shelf and placed the mug down in front of the stallion, making him jump a little in his seat

                                            > "One water, take it or leave it!" She said with a smirk, clearly rather satisfied with her performance of an elementary barkeeper's task

                                            > The blue stallion took one look at the mug and gestured to it with his hoof

                                            > "Could I get some ice with that, please?"

                                            > Gilda's smile evaporated in a second and her face twisted into an awful frown

                                            > "What, not COLD enough for you, lame-o? You asked for water, and you got water - now pay up!" Gilda held her clawed hand out and made a 'come hither' motion, to which you groaned in exasperation

                                            > You wanted to explain that putting ice in water was standard stuff considering there wasn't anything that could be diluted, but you held your tongue and decided to let her crash this vehicle herself

                                            > Biting his lip, the stallion nervously fished around for some change and plopped down two bits on the countertop, almost pleading with his eyes for the griffon to leave him be to enjoy his room-temperature drink

                                            > Gilda wasn't having it, though, and kept making the gesture. "And what about my tip, huh? You just gonna let all this hard work go to waste?"

                                            > It was clear that panic had now set in for the stallion, as he hurriedly emptied a few more bits out on the counter and promptly stood up from his seat, slowly backing away from the counter

                                            > "H-here, this is all I've got left. I don't even want the water, just-" He whimpered a little and broke into a mad gallop out of the bar, "-leave me alone!"

                                            > The unruly griffon stood, mouth agape, as her first and only customer threw some change at her and bolted

                                            > One slow clap later, you finally removed yourself from your post on the wall and moseyed over to Gilda, who was still confused by the whole exchange for some reason

                                            > "I've gotta say, that was a pretty impressive display - not only did you convince him that you deserved a tip despite the position having full wages, you also scared him away from his shitty warm mug of water, meaning you were basically just paid to scream at the guy and extort him out of his remaining bits. I think I should promote you from 'middle-school bully' to 'alleyway thug' with a performance like that."

                                            > "Ha ha ha", she said very deliberately as she cast you an annoyed glance from over her furred shoulders. "You're a riot, you know that? Maybe you should quit the bar gig and become a comedian! If you can't make ponies laugh because of your jokes, you can just show them that big ugly face of yours and that should do the trick!"

                                            > You thwack her on the head with a pen you'd fished from your pocket, much to her dismay, and gesture to the now-empty bar

                                            > "You really think you can convince me you're better at this than I am by treating our customers like that? Seriously, you gave him a WARM water. Who does that? Would you drink a warm water?"

                                            > Gilda might've had a response to that, but she swallowed it pretty quickly after a few sips of the mug she'd poured for the stallion

                                            > "...Okay, I see your point. But still, did you see the way he talked back to me? It was like he didn't realize he was talking to THE owner of the bar, you know? Way disrespectful."

                                            > Fucking what

                                            > "Gilda, he asked you very politely to give him what is fucking standard for a glass of water in the first place and you blew up in his face and bullied him out of the rest of his cash. What about any of that makes you think you were in the right?"

                                            > Her mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to think of a response, but it seemed wasn't coming, so you take the mug from her claws and dump the water out in the sink behind you before placing it back down on the counter, overturned with the rest of the clean mugs

                                            > "Well Gilda, I hope you can match that stellar performance with these three coming in now."


                                            > The rest of the day proceeds much how you thought it was going to, which filled you with a guilty little sense of joy being right and all

                                            > Gilda had no idea how to talk to customers, and with every curious face that came in, an insulted or terrified face left shortly afterward

                                            > A couple of ponies, the regulars mostly, had a bit to toss back in her face when she got uppity, which surprised her and put her off her game considerably

                                            > Well, if she had any in the first place

                                            > Some insults were thrown back and forth towards the end of the night between her and a good, longtime patron of the bar, Berry Punch, and you nearly had to step in to break up what might've been a fight if Berry Punch herself hadn't been such a desperate virgin beverage-aholic

                                            > She was about two seconds from tossing her drink in Gilda's face, but decided to down the rest of it in one big angry gulp and storm out of the bar instead, which was a much better outcome than you expected

                                            > You were going to call it there, but decided to just let things play out and see how she would handle closing time

                                            > Turns out she handled as shittily as everything else

                                            > More yelling, entitlement, some broken glasses and many, many dissatisfied customers

                                            > You were sure you would have lost some regulars if you hadn't told them of what was going on beforehand, which you were told to do by the boss when you ran the idea by him last night

                                            > By the end of the night, Gilda was at her wit's end, and everything seemed to get her to freak out

                                            > At the moment, she was trying to count the register down and kept dropping bits everywhere, prompting a few swears from her as she had to bend down and scrape the stray bits up from between the counter's cracks

                                            > You're positive the register will end up short, but you decide that you'll cover it when she's done to avoid any angry bosses breathing down your neck

                                            > After she finishes, she plops down on her lion rump and claws at her head feathers with barely-contained frustration

                                            > "Gah! How can you even DO something so irritating every single day? These ponies are the lamest bunch of losers I've ever met, and I can't please them no matter what I try to do. And you"- she points in your direction -"were no help at all! Didn't you see that old pegasus stallion giving me crap for mixing his drink wrong? Why didn't you say anything?"

                                            > You scoff, your fingers idly tapping against the grain of the bar counter

                                            > "What, you expected me tell off my very much insulted regulars because you don't know how to talk to people without making them want to spit in your eye? The ponies that live here are, for the most part, pretty chill and I don't understand why you get under their skin like that for no reason. You don't even have to make conversation with them - you literally pour their drinks, take their pay, and leave them alone to drown their sorrows or whatever the fuck. Why is that so hard for you to understand?"

                                            > "Well maybe I WOULD understand if you bothered to train me right! You know what?" Gilda rips the adorable little apron you'd thrown on her at the beginning of her shift off and stomps it into dust with her paws before continuing. "I'm sick of this dump, and I'm sick of YOU, so I quit! See you later, loser!"

                                            > Gilda flaps her wings once and jets off, over the counter and straight through the door, shattering it into splinters

                                            > You facepalm, both at the fact that she 'quit' a position she wasn't actually hired for and she once again has forced you to have to fix something

                                            > Fucking griffons