I couldn’t tell if I should have been happy that Catastrophe was okay, or scared that her first reaction to waking up was to tackle me and then go unconscious on me.

To be honest, it was hard to tell. On one hand, I had my… whatever the hell I was supposed to call her (airship pilot came to mind, but that in of itself was so impersonal that I might as well be examining her behind a pane of glass) on top of me, and on the other hand, she was not among the waking. (Which again, stopped me from wondering exactly what using all of my magic to keep her from going to wherever sexy murdering griffons go left me.)

Maybe I should feel both. I mean, why choose one over the other when it’s easy to split the decision? I was happily frightened. Which is a frightening statement in and of itself.

That describes a lot of things. On one hand, I had a group of (mercs, whatever the term is) idiots who had shot my airship pilot in a hotel room not far from here, and on the other (I don’t have hands, fuck) hoof, I have a griffon on top of me.

...I have a griffon on top of me.

I should do something about that, shouldn’t I?

The moment I tried to push her off, however, I realized one sad little detail. I was not strong enough to move her on my own. Either she had gained weight, or I was quite a bit weaker than I gave myself any sort of credit for.

But then again, should I even be trying to move her in the first place? I wrapped a hoof around her, trying to be mindful of the bandages.

Here I was, free of the eldritch abomination god spider top hat serial killer whatever the fuck is wrong with me for the first time in literally ages, and there’s a griffon on top of me. Shouldn’t I just indulge in the sheer what the fuckery of the moment?

...She was pretty soft. Her feathers were slightly fluffy, like she had spent quite a bit of time keeping them in order. So was her fur. That sounds weird. I mean, most of the time, when I’m thinking about fur, I’m thinking of things on non sentients, and here I am thinking about a gryphon like there’s something mildly attractive about her, despite being nothing more than a combination of two deadly creatures.

I’d also be lying if I said that she wasn’t cute when she was slightly berserk.

Oh god what the hell is wrong with me.

I’ve been here more than four months, and I’m JUST NOW THINKING THAT SOMETHING IS WRONG WITH THIS PICTURE?! God. Maybe I do need help.

There was this sneaking suspicion that something incredibly wrong was right with me, or something incredibly RIGHT was wrong with me, and then suddenly I was gently petting the massive death machine like she was a cat, gently stroking between her wings with a hoof.

Hooves. They fucking suck. I could use a hand right now. How long has it even been since I’ve mourned the loss of my hands? Is it just because I no longer have any magic, that I can’t use the surrogates of spells that I normally had at my disposal?

could it be that i wanted to feel what it would feel like to run my hands through her pelt

Then came a sound. Purring. Was this instinct on her part, or was she really…?

Better not think about it. Or mention it. At all.

Unless she did.

This is now growing awkward, despite being able to feel the steady slow vibration through her body and listen to the sound of her heart thudding in her chest, slowly, regularly.

and the sound of my own heart thudding in my chest with all the refreshed reality of a man freed from his jail, knowing that one day he’ll be back without knowing anything.

and then her heart beat

and then mine

thud thud

like the passing of a watch

like wind through a window

like heavy eyelids

closing.

And then the wings flew open. Just…*fwoomp* Nooooow it was far more awkward than I wished it to be.

Heh. Let’s just uh… leave it at that…

Nothing bad happened. I fell asleep pretty soon after that.

Totally. You can trust me.

-----

Boss kept a glare focused at the group in front of her. Two griffons. Two zebras. A dog. If not for her history, she probably would’ve found the dog… attractive in some sense.

The dog for one, looked like he at least understood the deeper parts of sword play. Namely, not stabbing yourself with your sword. He still smelled like utter shit.

Unattractive except to certain species of dung beetles, at least.

The griffoness was clad in red. Her fur was red, her feathers were red, her eyes were blue, and oddly enough, she could see a star pattern on the underside of her right leg. Bright purple, but weirdly enough, it seemed natural on her.

Both zebras were… zebras. In the name of her den, she didn’t think she would ever be able to tell zebras apart, if not for the fact that Ivan was a bit bigger than Canary, she would probably get the two of them confused as well!

One was male, one was female.

The male griffon looked a bit like Cata, if not in direct opposite. He had black feathers with a shock of white fur. Also, a gun thing. It went bang, and she currently wanted to point it at his face and pull the trigger back, and laugh at the mess it made.

Specifically, because he was talking like he was all that and a slab of ribs, and she was tempted to see just how much blood his bullshit would back him up with.

“Seriously. Why the hell are you acting like we did something that bad? Scum just like him kill whoever the hell they want.”

The male zebra spoke next. Mark, I think his name was. “Look, I think we made the bad choice here.”

“Definitely, did you see just how hot that gryphoness was you shot?” Like she had called it, the red gryphon was as slutty as they came. If Cata was a slut, then this gryphon was as open as a meadow.

Then the mare spoke, and glared at the red gryphon at the same time. “Did you hear how that stallion screamed? Hell, I’ve heard mothers let out less terrified noises when the slavers come a calling.”

“You haven’t quite answered my question…”

The stallion in the room (and boss rarely counted Canary as a guy) shook his head. “I just feel like it was wrong, alright? He… he fits the description of the ‘hero’ of port oblivion…”

Boss barely managed to stop from bursting out into harsh hard laughter. “Ay. You got the right person.”

All five turned to look at her, though only the gryphoness’s wandering eyes made her feel like she needed a long hot shower and several bars of soap.

“The gryphon that was shot? She’s an airship pilot.” She paused. “Which you’ll be paying for the repairs on, given that you shot it out of the sky.”

Deadshot, the asshole, opened his beak to speak, and she almost slit his throat for it. Almost.

“She’s famed for surviving several airship crashes. The zebra? Saved an entire town from being devoured by a hell blob. Myself? Ex slave.”

She then motioned at the zebra furiously studying in the corner. “He’s a medic.”

There was a period of silence until Boss cleared her throat. “Come on. You started the battle. Why don’t you convince me that you’re nice and sorry before I beat the shit out of you again?”

Deadshot shifted back and forth a little… not quite nervously, but not quite as cocky.,

“Ten seconds to start talking before I start kicking. Chop chop now.”

Mark pointed at the gryphoness. “This is Leona.”

Leona snorted, tossing her red tail about. She pointed to the Zebra mare. “She’s Xyla.”

Said zebra mare seemed a little nervous. Shy flower type.

And then she knew the names of the party in front of her. Oddly enough, it just made her angrier. Even more so, they had yet to answer the question. She wondered how difficult it was to carve gravestones…

She fingered her right sword and drew it. They got the picture.

Namely, Mark, who appeared to be in charge, tosses a large bag of coins at her feet. She raises an eyebrow at them, and motioned. “That’ll hardly cover the medical bills…”

The gryphon spat. “Like that would stop you from cutting and running. This town doesn’t owe you anything.”

Boss drew the sword.

“WILL YOU SHUT UP, LOGAN?”

The gryphon glared. “The name is DEADSHOT.”

“That’s a stupid name and you know it.”

“Oh, fuck you Mark.”

“No, FUCK YOU!”

The red gryphoness poked her head up. “Did someone say fucking?” She had a pleasant voice.

Both Zebra and gryphon turned and screamed at her. “NO!”

Boss turned to Xyla. “They do this often?”

“All the time. Leona has a running bet on whether or not they are gay for each other.”

“WE ARE NOT GAY!” They both shouted, then turned to look at the other in astonishment, before turning away from each other.

Boss nodded… slowly… good den whore, these people were nearly migraine inducing. Scratch that, they WERE migraine inducing. And pains in the ass, but doesn’t that mean the same thing?

She frowned. She was getting as bad as Cata. Mayhaps she should shove her nose into a few books, like Canary was, and crow about what she found instead of dealing with complete and utter idiots?

Endearing as they would probably be to anyone who wasn’t aware of the world’s truth of being a shady at best hell hole, to her, they were symptoms of a big problem.

The world was seeing everything in black in white… which made her think about something else.

“Alright. How about a trade of information? I give you the information that I won’t slit your throats, and you give me the information on… these… chess pieces…”

Canary, to his credit, poked his ears at attention while still reading.

Boss was going to get her damn information.

----

Terror slept.

Clutched to his side was a long sword. Not long by his standards, but by the standards of a regular gryphon, or even a sword’s dog, it was of passable length to be a long sword.

Bits of molten rock still slung to the steel of the blade from it’s long stay in the middle of a volcano. The blade itself was sheathed in a fine black piece.

It was entirely unclear whether or not the blade liked the sheath.

Swords were notorious for having a personality all their own.

And that’s before they are made by the god of forges.