Tabula Rasa
Chapter 52: We Didn't Start The Fire
Previous Chapter Next ChapterMy third trimester was when the fact that I was pregnant decided to make itself painfully aware. Not only have I been getting bigger and bigger, but I’ve started to feel my baby kick and move! My tits have been sore as hell lately, too. Thankfully, my wife is happy to help with that.
In fact- she used to suck on my tits a lot before, but now she can barely get enough.
“Pleeeease!” She whined, literally begged. I just groaned in annoyance, pressing the pillow against the side of my head. “I thought you loved meeeee!” She did a fake cry, and I sighed in defeat.
“Fffffine.” Immediately she shut the fuck up as I guided her head down. “Needy bitch.” I complained. I just wanted to sleep!
“Shutup, you love me.” She said as she got to work, and I agreed wholeheartedly.
After a few more seconds passed, I said- “Just so you know, the baby’s kicking. That means they’re upset.” I joked, and my wife snorted.
“Probably knows I’m stealing their lunch.” I couldn’t help but chuckle.
“True.” God, we are so fucked. On a much more positive note- I am quite good at breastfeeding, apparently. But I mean, what was I supposed to do? Say “Sorry babe, I love you with all my heart, but you’re not allowed to suck on my tits.”
I’m not a fuckin animal! Besides, I admit. It felt hella nice.
Anyways…
Salt guns. Fucking genius idea, and I made sure Sinan realized that. Ever since I had a bunch of them made and deployed all over the place, we caught three changeling spies! It’s very effective- the blast of salt doesn’t penetrate deep, similar to birdshot. However, the shock causes them to transform into their original forms, and this disorients them so bad that all you have to do is bum rush them to disable them.
The outrage generated by the fact that Equestria was sending over spies was quite… Well, it didn’t help the anti-Equestria sentiment that much. But once again- I had my wife to thank for that. You know- the fact that it’s anti-Equestrian sentiment and not anti-pony sentiment.
Propaganda and PR is a game that she has become quite good at. It also helps that many see her as inspiring- and gives the impression that no matter who you are, those loyal to The Syndicate are just as much good citizens as any griffon. On the contraire- many griffons don’t see Captain Gallus as a fellow griffon, if that makes sense.
As for the changelings themselves? In a shocking turn of events, they were given a proper trial… but it was all a farce. They were sentenced to death- the female one even started crying in the courtroom.
Their wings were snapped off, and they were hung. But while they stood on the gallows- I had to give an address. One which would be broadcast all across The Syndicate. I stood on stage and spoke into the mic-
“Ladies and gentlemen- what we have here today is a clear breach in our national security.” The turnout for the execution was massive. A lot of people were upset at Equestria- and this is how the people vented their frustration. “But, as members of a sovereign nation… it is not only our right, but our duty to protect our private property and our interests. On our own property, our own soil!” As usual, I was gesticulating and enunciating to hype the crowd up. Even though I was eight, almost nine months pregnant, I was still as good as ever.
“There was an incident where indecent photos of my wife and I were spread through certain mediums, all for the purpose of defaming us. I’m not afraid to admit it, because I’m using it as a condemnation of the imperialistic, childish ways of Equestria!” I really had the crowd going, and once again, the female changeling was crying. “During a private moment which no camera could have naturally seen, a changeling had the audacity to photograph my wife and I during, again, a private, intimate moment. My friends, I must warn you- if it could happen to me, it could happen to any one of you.” The crowd was silent, hanging on to my every word. No doubt, the shock and concern of the revelation finally dawned on them.
“The changelings are sneaky. They can work unimpeded, steal our deepest, most valuable secrets and sell them to the highest bidder! Well, you know what I have to say to that?” I leaned into the mic and proudly stated- “FUCK ‘EM!” The crowd was once again in an uproar at my conclusion. I pulled out one of the salt guns, for demonstration. “Using one of these devices, we were able to effortlessly knock one out of the air, detaining it for questioning!” The crowd churned into a mass of people calling out, asking how to get one.
“The A-Salt Rifle! Available soon at Birdnest Bargains, retailing at 99 cents a pop!” We knocked the price down considerably, of course. Each one also came with a helpful pictogram, detailing how to use it. “And hey! This baby uses air to fire harmless table salt. I always keep one handy- it’s fantastic for dealing with ordinary bugs! It’s like a shotgun for flies!” Everyone seemed fascinated by this stupid, simple product. “Bring one to your next family reunion! Show those flies circling your mama's tomato sauce who’s in charge around here!” I quipped, to the delight of the crowd.
I straightened out my expression, and lowered my hand in a flat gesture- signaling for the crowd to quiet down.
“Ladies and gentlemen, this is a plain and obvious condemnation of the actions of a foreign government operating on our soil. As a result, let today stand as a message to those who would dare try to judge us in our private lives. Let it be known that the consequences for such a crime… are just, and severe.” I spoke clearly and sternly. “If they think they can fuck around with us, they’ve got another thing coming!” The crowd goes absolutely ballistic. “WE ARE GRIFFONS! WE ARE PROUD! YOU BEAT US WITH FISTS, WE’LL COME BACK WITH A KNIFE!”
I felt like a preacher, and in a way, I kind of was. “YOU BEAT US WITH A KNIFE, WE COME BACK WITH A GUN!” I was literally pounding the podium with a fist to punctuate my sentences, my ears started to ring, and I started feeling lightheaded! I forced myself to calm down a little bit- “And if you beat me with a gun, you better kill me.” The crowd yelled out a resounding YEAH! “BECAUSE IF YOU DON’T… WE’LL BE COMING BACK AND BACK, UNTIL ONE OF US IS DEAD!”
My heart and head were both pounding, and I felt like I was gonna collapse. I mustered up what felt like all my energy. “NOW LET’S SEE THESE BUGS FLY!” The crowd had reached its apex, and I gave the go-ahead for the executioner to pull the lever.
My wife was waiting just offstage with a box of popcorn, and I paid her no mind as I hurried my way to the carriage. After what I'm sure was an internal struggle between tending to her pregnant wife and watching what was probably her favorite fantasy play out in a socially acceptable manner… my darling wife picked me, hopping into the carriage and cuddling up into my side.
I just slumped in my seat, panting and sweating miserably.
“Ohh, sweetie… lemme get you a drink.” She opened the carriage's ice box and found… champagne, but no water. “Shit.” She nervously wondered what to do while I popped an ice cube into my mouth.
“Overdid it. Cramps. Tired. Pain.” I shifted in my seat uncomfortably, my spine feeling like the letter Z. “Home. Please.” My due date was still… three weeks out. And god, it really showed. My wife convinced me to stop wearing full coats all the time because I kept overheating in the summer weather, so everyone knew for sure I was pregnant.
I never really was too public about it, and some people just didn’t hear the news until recently. We spun it as more PR- after all, why would a self proclaimed woman of the people follow conventions set by stuffy old nobles? She never announced her pregnancy to the world, but why would anyone?
I think my wifes official title is DJ, what with how much spinning she does.
I had a meeting that evening, but I had to cancel and reschedule it. Well, I say meeting- but it was more of a casual get together with Mind’s Eye and a friend I met who was… also fascinated in the occult. Or rather, seems to know a bit about it.
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We were meeting for lunch in a pizza parlor. “I’m tellin’ ya, you gotta have some real fuckin’ pizza while you’re here!” I said to Emmie as we took our seat. We were well ahead of schedule, so we decided to take our seats inside… mostly so I could get off my feet. “Equestrian pizza is not only not better than Fertilian pizza… it’s not pizza!” I quipped, and he snorted and rolled his eyes.
“Let me guess, it’s because we like pineapple on our pizza?” Surprisingly, no.
“Emmie, I’m hurt that you think I’m that basic.” I said as I flipped open the menu. “No, I’m talking about deep dish Equestrian.” He turned and looked at me with his one good eye. After a few moments he responded-
“Okay, now I’m curious. What makes a deep dish pizza, not a pizza?” I smiled, gesturing wildly.
“It’s a fuckin’ casserole!” I said, and he snorted in laughter. “It’s literally tomato soup in a bread bowl!” But we both soon calmed down, deciding to just order ahead of time. Funnily enough, I decided to order the pineapple ham pizza.
“You know, I’m still upset that you’ve replaced me.” He said, and I just gave him a what the fuck? Look. He pointed to his eyepatch, and I cocked an eyebrow.
“Are you saying Adrian replaced you?” he harrumphed and nodded, and I facepalmed.
“Mothafuck, he had two workin’ eyes when I met him!” I ranted, much to his amusement. “The fuck you mean I’m replacin’ ya’, get tha fuck outta here!” But before I could go on, Our guest finally arrived.
“Sorry I’m late, fellas!” He said, taking his seat and setting his bag next to his chair. Immediately, he had Mind’s Eye’s attention.
“Mind’s Eye, I’d like you to meet Tony. He’s that friend I was talking about!” Of course, he was the very same architect that I hired on for my… special project. I don’t think I ever described him- he’s quite handsome, in my opinion. He has a soft, young looking face and a lithe figure. In other words, he was a twink.
He held his hand out to shake Emmie’s hoof, which he quickly accepted with a smile.
“Tony, you said you were seeing the yellow sign in your dreams?” I asked, and he nodded.
“Y-yes. I’ve had all kinds of… of strange, vivid dreams over the years…” He seemed kind of shaky, understandably. “Goodness, where do I start?”
Mind’s Eye immediately moved his pizza out of the way in favor of jotting down notes. I just ate my pizza, amused yet mildly concerned about what he had to say.
“Wait.” I interrupted before he could start, causing him to jump. I then gestured for the waiter to get over here. “Get ya’ somethin’ to eat. On me.” I gave him a warm smile and he nodded thankfully.
He ordered, then started. “So, I have these recurring dreams. I’m in this big, half-ruined city, with a lake of rotting bodies.” He said, and the feathers on the back of my neck stood up. “Most of it is in ruins, but the bits that do remain… goodness, they’re breathtaking!” He spoke passionately about it, “The architecture is so beautiful, and complex! I’ve honestly woken up from dreams and sprinted to my sketchbooks!”
He spoke passionately, and I don’t blame him. That sounded awesome. “Then… it’s weird. I see the beauty juxtapositioned next to the destruction and can’t help but feel a sort of… deep, profound sadness.”
“Rreeally?” Mind’s Eye piped up and I just wanna say- the way he said that, the way he enunciated it- sounded really, really gay. Kinda cute, honestly.
“Yeah! But overall… I get this feeling that I’m… missing something.” The waitress dropped off his pizza, and he nodded his thanks. “Like, there’s something there that wants me to find it… but, I haven’t the faintest idea what.” He then shrugged- “So I just wander around, taking in the architecture. I hope to have the whole place mapped out someday, just as a hobby.” Mind’s Eye soon asked-
“Have you got any drawings?” And Tony’s face lit up! He pulled a couple notebooks out of his backpack.
While he was doing that, I interjected- “Tell ya what, Tony. How ‘bout instead of doing that as a hobby, you do it for me? For money?” I offered. His eyes, already wide open in joy… looked like they might pop out.
“R-really!?” He seemed excited… for some reason.
“I mean… I’m already paying you to design that big building project… now, you just have my endorsement and, if necessary, financial backing to get it done.” I held out a hand with a warm smile, which he shook.
“I know, it’s just… nice to know I’m not crazy!” He said with a sheepish grin. Then he asked- “Why are you so interested, if you don’t mind me asking?”
I gave my answer some thought.
“Truthfully, I feel… strangely inclined to search for answers, in regards to this… whatever this is.” I honestly didn’t know how to feel. I just shrugged, and they started going over the drawings.
“Well, it’s been great.” I said as I got up, slapping a wad of bills on the table to serve as tip and payment. I gave Emmie a quick hug and shook Tony’s hand. I gave them an apologetic smile. “Sorry to leave so soon, I just… wanna lay down.”
“Go get some rest. You need it.” Emmie said, helpful as ever.
“Hey, you two be nice to each other.” I made my leave and as promised, I laid down the rest of the night. Holy fuck, I think this baby is trying to fist fight its way out!
But I had to get some rest- it was almost time. The Griffonian Syndicate Exposition. The train companies were given tax reliefs to run their trains for free for a week, so as many people as possible could attend. The Casino bosses were particularly enthusiastic, and massive hotels were built in preparation for the influx of tourists. People from all over the nation were flocking to Fertilia…
To see what I believe will be the greatest exhibition the world has ever seen. Not only that- it stands as a symbol of united Griffonia in the face of trials and tribulations. It served to give people hope… of a better tomorrow, a better future… better lives.
“Babe, are you alright?” She rolled over from her spot in bed to check on me. I sniffled and quickly nodded.
“Y-Yeah. Just thinking about… awesome stuff.” She giggled, playfully nudging my back.
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The turnout was as grand as you’d expect. Literally tens of thousands of griffons crowded outside the building, all in preparation for the main event… and it was 7 in the morning! Basically, my wife and I were gonna take a self-guided tour of the place before anyone else did and then we would give a speech afterwards. In the front of the building, there was an open balcony built for this express purpose- my banners hanging off the railing and flapping gracefully in the early morning breeze.
The way the inside of the building was set up, you would enter in the direct middle. There were the main avenues going east and west, and along this path there were all sorts of displays and stuff set up. In the very center of the building was a statue depicting me with a gun, and large trees lined the center of the walkway.
As we walked the place, we also had an entourage of guards and a carriage ready to go just outside… you know- in case it happens. It was a funny coincidence- I was literally thinking to myself that I’d much rather have a proper ambulance than a couple a schmucks pulling a wagon… when I saw a griffon using an oil can on what appeared to be a single cylinder engine attached to a light wagon.
The thing had three wheels, a rotating crank to steer with, and a lever on the side, which controlled the break. The way this guy's area was set up, it almost looked like a car garage.
“Don Grimfeather! Empress Tiara!” The guy, who appeared to be in his mid-30s, bowed as soon as he saw us. I simply held a hand up.
“I don’t do bowing, guy.” I said plainly, and he seemed to flinch. I held out a hand with a warm smile, which he shook somewhat shakily. “Call me Leona.” Dee followed my example, and introduced herself as such.
Our casualness helped him calm down considerably. “Please, call me Ben. I bet you wanna know what this is, eh?” He said, proudly showing off his creation. “Behold, the fruits of our labor!” I knew what it was, as I’d seen pictures of a similar model in old books- but I’d never seen one actually running. “See, it was actually built and designed by my wife and I, along with a few other friends. Of course, the advice you gave us really helped things kick off.”
He explained the details- it ran off a single cylinder four-stroke with a massive horizontal iron flywheel beneath it. The large steel spoke wheels sported solid rubber tires attached to a simple type of flat spring suspension. Above the engine itself was a copper basin which held cooling water and had a small oil reservoir. It worked by slowly dripping oil onto the essential parts- so if you planned on using this one as a daily, you better watch the dipstick religiously.
Hell, pretty much all the gears and parts were external, so treating this thing like a work beater was out of the option.
“I call it Ben’s Patent Motorcar!” He circled his invention, clearly proud of it. He was so giddy, it was almost kind of adorable. He gestured to the gas tank- “See, it runs off common washing gasoline, which you can buy at just about any pharmacy. Birdsnest Bargains comes to mind.” He popped open the tank and topped it off using gasoline from what looked like a tin moonshine jug.
For context- the reason he called it “washing gasoline” is because it’s actually sold as an industrial degreaser. See, it’s a by-product of manufacturing kerosene, which was seen as far more useful. It was still sold because fuck it, why not? It’s still good, just not as good.
Well, something told me that gasoline would soon overshadow good ol’ kerosene; eventually, we’d have to find a much better source of oil… which is why I wanted to open up trade with the zebras. But that’ll be a future problem.
“As you can see, the majority of the chassis was constructed from steel tubing and wooden panels for ease of manufacture, and to keep the cost down!” He then gestured to the wooden box next to the piston. “And this part here is a trembler coil! See, rather than using a dangerous open flame to start the combustion sequence, my Motorcar uses an electrical spark to ignite the fuel!” He proudly stated, and I smiled while nodding in satisfaction.
“I can imagine that using a cigarette lighter to start one of these engines wouldn’t be a great idea, eh?” I joked with a chuckle,
“Absolutely not, Ma’am!” Not my name, but alright. He was so proud of his creation, anyone could see that. “Well, you wanna see it in action?” he asked, going around the front and turning a key. The trembler coil started letting off an electrical hum, letting the operator know that it was ready.
“I hope you brought enough spare parts, gas, and oil to last you the week.” I said to him with a smile, and he nodded.
“Of course! I brought enough spare parts that if I had more frames, I could build… seven more!” He grabbed the flywheel with one hand and a spoke with the other, and gave it a good tug.
TISH! That was the sound the piston made as it went through its first cycle. He then spun it again, and the sound started coming faster and faster. It reminded me of the sound that a steam locomotive makes as it barrels down the tracks.
Soon, the motor was roughly chugging, and the entire car was swaying and shaking inconsistently. He then moved to the front of the car and started fiddling with a brass knob on the front panel of the driver's seat. Slowly, the engine started smoothing out and Ben had a massive smile on his face.
The engine was ready, and he turned the key to the opposite side, setting the battery to run.
“Boom! The Motorcar is running smoothly! Ready to try it out?” He climbed up and held his hand out, and I gave a sheepish grin.
“I’d actually… rather not.” I said, and his heart seemed to break. “No no, not like that.” I gave him a warm smile, “It’s just…” I then sat back and gestured to my belly, and he nodded in understanding.
“Ahh, I understand! My wife is in a similar predicament… Well, Mrs. Tiara?” He held his hand out to my wife- who seemed much more unsure.
“I don’t know… is it safe?” She eyed the vehicle curiously, the four-stroke engine chugging away.
“Of course it’s safe! It’s running right now, ain’t it?” I reassured her, patting her on the back.
“I guarantee your safety, Ma’am! You’re 100 percent safe on the Motorcar!” That was a little concerning- I’d definitely want to make sure he was aware of his car's own safety shortcomings.
“Ohh… alright.” He helped her climb onto the seat, and situated himself so that his left hand was on the steering shaft and his right was on the clutch.
“Are you ready to have the time of your life?” He said to Dee, who nervously giggled.
“I-I guess…” Before he could take off-
“Drive slow.” I said sternly, pointing a finger at Ben. He gulped nervously, and slowly moved the clutch forward. The car slowly pulled out of its garage onto the main avenue, and the two slowly drove their way to the other side of the building.
I decided to sit on a nearby bench in the shade of one of the trees, watching their ride from afar.
“Liking what you see?” I admit, I was a little startled by the voice which came out of nowhere. A woman sat next to me- she was quite pretty and very much pregnant.
“I assume you’re his wife?” I asked her, and we shook hands. “Call me Leona.”
“Carla.” We immediately hit it off, and made brief smalltalk- when’s your due date? Oh, that’s so wonderful! I bet you’re so excited, huh? That sort of shit. Eventually though, she had to ask the burning question.
“So… thoughts?” She asked. At this point, the car had made a few laps at full speed… which wasn’t very fast. My wife seemed to be enjoying herself, though. I idly rubbed my beak, trying to think where to start.
“Well for starters… it’s not very crash-safe.” I said, and she giggled. I mean- god help you if you’re ever driving this thing home from the bar at three AM. I mean, it doesn’t even have a cupholder, for fucks sake! Furthermore, there’s no trunk! What happens when you gotta get rid of a stiff? You’re fucked, that’s what happens!
But I digress.
“Why do you think I’m sitting this one out?” She gestured to her belly, and I understood completely.
“Still though- it is a genuine, working automobile. And I have some ideas that I think will really flesh this out.” I said, and her eyes shot open.
“You mean-!?” I pulled a navy-blue poker chip out of my pocket and presented it to her. She held it like it was made of gold, and tears formed in the corner of her eyes.
“We’ll have a meeting later to discuss these ideas. Until then?” I used a hand to gesture to the car. “Show the world what us griffons are capable of, huh?” She wrapped her arms around me in a hug, and I awkwardly patted her on the back.
If you hadn’t realized it- the chip is my way of saying Congratulations! Your product has so much potential that I want to personally oversee the future development of it. And of course- it also came with financial backing through the Research Union. As long as they keep showing progress, the money will keep coming in.
That’s where the “Union” aspect came in. Your union dues weren’t taken out of your pay- your union dues were paid by proving that you’re still being productive. The actual funding came from all sorts of sources- private donations, investors, but it all mainly came from the treasury. We were practically sitting on piles of gold- further proving the incompetence of the old monarchy. It was simply too restrictive in its rule, I think. Or they were just too fuckin’ greedy to spend the money.
But anyways- when my wife finally got tired of her joyride, we moved on. Unlike the motor car where there was pretty much only a small group of people pioneering the study, the firearms industry had a bit more time to flourish. As such, there were a lot more enthusiasts and pioneers in the field.
That was another advantage of this building- it was so fuckin wide that these guys could have their own shooting galleries set up. Angled concrete backdrops helped to prevent ricochets and simple paper targets could be hung from racks.
There were a bunch of names in this industry- and they definitely had some neat presentations. One guy tried to pass a wheellock gun off as waterproof. Another one invented what was essentially a flintlock which could be reloaded with metal cartridges which had a touch hole, so you still had to prime it.
Overall, these were beautifully crafted guns. Their parts were well oiled and shiny, the finishes looked fantastic, and the stocks on most of these guns looked like they were made of more expensive wood than my kitchen table. It was literal gun porn!
Hell, one guy even made a tacticool muzzle loading short barreled rifle! The thing had a brass telescopic sight as long as the barrel, a vertical foregrip, a pistol grip, folding stock, and it was covered in engravings… which offered no tactical advantage whatsoever. The inventor seemed heartbroken when he learned of this fact- but he’ll live.
Unfortunately, a lot of these names would likely be forgotten as their companies fold because no-one can afford their guns. At this point, they’ll get jobs working as designers for the inevitable “Big Few” gun companies which would pop up. You know- kind of like how everyone knows what Winchester is, and virtually no-one knows who Merwin and Bray were.
Who were Merwin and Bray, you may ask? Gun designers that no-one remembers. I rest my case.
But thankfully, there was an underdog in this competition. Some guy named Samuel Wynnfeather, whose display was simply marked with Wynnfeather’s Repeating Firearms Mfg. There were also simple wooden signs advertising repeating firepower… including a rifle which, allegedly, could fire 60 times without reloading.
This, I just had to see! He was using an oily rag to wipe down an oddly shaped rifle, and we greeted each other like we usually did.
“I’m sure you want me to get to the point?” He asked plainly, and I smiled.
“What, you’re not gonna give me a half hour explanation on all the design details?” I joked, and he rolled his eyes, handing me the strange rifle. It had no visible flash pan or percussion cap nipple, so my hopes were high. Way I figure, we’re better off skipping the percussion cap and going straight to primers.
Unlike the other guns, this one had more of a vibe of a shoproom prototype, which I appreciated immensely. The stock seemed to come from a standard carbine stock which was modified. A long, thin tube ran across the top of the barrel, which was attached to… some mechanism. It had a hammer, that much I could recognize.
I slowly pulled it back, revealing a claw shaped firing pin. The smile threatened to break my beak, and he pointed to the parts as he explained their function. When I pulled back the hammer, a small block attached to the breech rose connected to a metal bar, lining itself up with the magazine tube. When I pulled the hammer all the way back, the breech block snapped downwards with a very satisfying click and lined itself up with the barrel, and it was presumably ready to fire.
It was unloaded, of course. “So, how do I load it, and where’s the ammo?” I said excitedly, feeling giddy as a schoolgirl!
Then my hopes of already having developed a modern firearm were shattered as he grabbed a metal box full of small, lead bullets.
“I call it the Wynnfeather Repeating Gravity Rifle! It fires my own patented self-contained Rocket-Ball ammunition!” The round was small- couldn’t have been bigger than .41 caliber. He pointed to the wooden cork on the base of the hopelessly stubby bullet, explaining how that piece was full of mercury fulminate, which detonated the powder in this self-contained cartridge.
The more I examine this gun up close, the more glaring its issues become. It loads from the front of the magazine tube by opening a simple loading door and dropping the bullets in… there was no spring-powered follower. I kept a neutral expression as he explained its operation.
Basically what you do, if you cock the hammer halfway, a cartridge drops into the breech block. You simply hold the rifle up and jiggle it a little to feed a round in- and if necessary, there’s a lever on top of the hammer to help push the cartridge in. Pulling the hammer all the way back drops the block and puts the cartridge into battery, making it ready to fire.
Trying to clear a misfire on this gun must be pretty nerve-wracking.
“You can go ahead and try it out whenever you’re ready!” He said, and I brought the rifle up. I decided to aim dead center on a bench rest to see how accurate this thing actually was.
POP!
It had less recoil than a .22 and was probably half as powerful. Still- I actually hit the target pretty close to where I was aiming, so credit where it’s due. I pulled the hammer back, jiggled the rifle, and shot it again.
He seemed nervous as he watched me test his gun- but I wasn’t sure why. After all- all the other guns here, I only shot once or twice. This? Was something special.
I set the rifle down and used a wooden crank to bring the paper target closer. There was a decent grouping where I was aiming, but there were a couple stragglers that went really low. It must have been an issue with the ammo, as I didn’t really doubt my own accuracy and consistency.
I’ve been firing off guns far longer than any of these guys, that’s for sure.
“So, w-what d’ya think?” He asked, nervousness evident in his voice. I held the gun, gently turning it in my hands and giving it another once-over.
“So, what you have here is a remarkably well designed piece.” I was genuinely impressed at the craftsmanship. “Despite the basic finishing on the metal, the gun operates real smoothly.” He gave me a sheepish chuckle, and I clarified- “You should be proud of this gun, really.” Once again, he beamed in pride at me over his creation.
I set the rifle to the side and grabbed one of the bullets. “This right here? Is the main issue.” Once again he was nervously tapping his fingers together, and I continued- “Obviously, it’s a very anemic, wimpy round.” I turned it around and examined the bottom. “There’s simply not enough powder to produce a satisfactory shot. That said- this would make for a fun training gun, plinking, or squirrel hunting. If you’re dead set on this design, you could advertise it for that purpose.”
I then set the bullet down. “But. This has incredible potential. You, my friend, are on the cusp of something enormous.” His eyes were wide, and he blinked at me in confusion. “Get me a piece of paper!”
We scrambled to find a piece of paper and a pen, and when we did I started sketching out a standard, brass-cased cartridge and explaining the benefits, functionality, and a general idea of the developments required for it to work.
“Anyways, Sam, what I’m trying to say?” I pulled out a poker chip and stuffed it in his vest pocket. He looked at that pocket in disbelief, probably at a loss for words. I just smiled, slapping him on the back in a friendly manner. “My people will be getting in contact soon. They’ll bring all the paperwork and explain union terms, as well as what would be expected of you. Until then?”
He sniffled, apparently overcome with joy! “I want you to go out there and show the world what we’re capable of. Got it?” He nodded, shaking my hand in delight. “Also, word of advice. Get a bunch of steel targets, bottles, tin cans, that sort of shit. Trust me, it’s fun as fuck.” I wanted him to introduce to the world what was probably my favorite pass-time on Earth- Good ol’ fashioned plinkin’!
Speaking of shooting guns and plinkin’, the next stand over was a local brewer wanting to show off all his fancy craft beers by giving out free samples. God Bless The Syndicate! Real talk, though- I made sure Sam and the rest of the gun guys knew that they should never give a firearm to someone who is very clearly drunk. Just in case. Thankfully, there would be plenty of guards at the event itself tasked with keeping the peace.
As for the brewer, we respectfully declined to try any of his samples- I was heavily pregnant and my wife just doesn’t like beer. I’m sure it would’ve all been delicious, but thankfully he was understanding.
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The next several hours were full of spectacle as our attention was drawn from one attraction to the other. I could tell this would be a massive hit- the kind of thing that gets remembered for centuries to come.
You had the big ones- like the car, the gun, and the telephone. They demonstrated its function by splitting their booth in half- one phone is situated on one end of the building, and the other one opposite. It was very primitive and the sound quality wasn’t that great- but it still earned ‘em a blue chip.
There was also the primitive ammonia-based air conditioning system which helped keep the building cool. Despite it being early fall, the sun was still quite hot, and we were basically inside a giant greenhouse.
Then there was the super-super-super-early type of television someone was showing off. The picture quality was cursed and the audio was shit, but the sooner we get an indoctrination box like this in every home, the better. I remember, ever since I explained the concept of television to Dee, she’s been constantly riding my ass, trying to convince me to throw a fuckin kings ransom into getting this shit working.
I mean, literally- I wonder how the Television project is coming along? I wonder what kind of shows griffons will come up with? Ohh, I can’t wait! Imagine, we could have a channel dedicated to 24-7 propaganda under the guise of a news station! I wonder if it’s done yet, you should check in on them! And I always told her the same thing- You’ll get your fuckin’ tv, just give it time!
As we walked away, I playfully whispered in her ear- “You got your fuckin’ tv. Now can you stop bustin’ my balls over it?” She giggled and said,
“Maybe.” Fucks sake.
There was so much stuff there, I couldn't even go over it all. All sorts of early, primitive tech was being shown off- there was something for everybody here.
My wife was particularly interested in a fuckoff-huge mechanical calculator. She has enough experience with accounting work to know how game-changing something like that is.
But eventually, we had to move on. Around noon, we made our way up to the balcony out front for my speech and… something else. On the ground by the entrance was a large something which was covered entirely in a tarp. It appeared to be sitting on a single-rail track which spanned 60 feet long in a straight line that went down the hill that this place was built on.
Of course, you couldn’t really see the grass right now, what with the massive fuckin’ crowd below.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” I spoke into the mic, and the crowd instantly quieted down. “What we have here today is the result of the greatest minds of the Griffonian Syndicate working together to create the future itself for all of us.” The crowd started chattering curiously about what could be inside. “Such marvels as a wagon which could move all on its own! A rifle that you can shoot sixty times in a row without reloading!”
The crowd seemed enamored at all the possibilities that awaited them inside. “Have you ever wished you could speak to a friend or a relative in another part of the nation?” The crowd started murmuring amongst themselves, and I knew I had to save this. “Or even, have you ever wished that you could order a hot pizza to be delivered to your home, all in 30 minutes or less?” That got the crowd goin’!
I elbowed my wife to force her to remove that confused look from her face.
“My friends, all that and more will be available soon! But that’s not what I’m most excited for.” On cue, a bunch of guards removed the tarp covering the device below me. “We’re gonna need some room here.”
The guards started trying to move the crowd out of the way… but it was easier said than done. In the end, it took a half hour to make sure that everyone was out of the way, and that no-one would wind up getting clipped by the machine as it went by. I actually had the microphones turned off, and Dee and I spent the time discussing what we saw, and I wound up comparing a lot of the inventions to their more… contemporary counterparts.
The machine itself was a large wooden thing, made of cloth and powered by two large propellers in the back, as well as a specially made light engine.
“Well, that took longer than expected. Lessons learned, huh?” I joked, getting some laughter out of the crowd. “Where was I… ah, right. Ladies and gentlemen!” I made sure to get their full attention- if anyone missed this, they’d surely be upset.
“What you’re seeing is a heavier-than-air device capable of powered flight… without flapping wings!” they started the engine of the small wooden plane, it rumbling as loud as you’d expect. “An airplane! Called The Prosperity, is the first of its kind!” A lot of people tried to move to get a closer look, but the guards did a fantastic job of getting everyone to stay the fuck back. The thing looked rickety as fuck- you couldn’t pay me to fly that thing.
Still though. For griffons like Adrian, the idea of being able to fly again sounds almost too good to be true. Though for me personally, I knew that all it’d take was a… few upgrades… and we’ll be able to attach bombs and machine guns to it in no time.
Using incredibly advanced and sophisticated weather control techniques (having a bunch of griffons stand on the ground and flap their wings behind the plane) we were able to get a perfect breeze going.
“Ladies and gentlemen: The Prosperity!” I announced the start of its flight by pumping my fist in the air. The crowd watched in awe as the plane that looked like it was made from nutrags and popsicle sticks slowly rose above the track.
The flight lasted 20 seconds, and the plane made it 120 feet before harmlessly landing in the grass below. The pilot, probably shaking, climbed out of his spot completely unharmed, and the crowd went wild!
“I HEREBY COMMEMORATE THE FLIGHT OF THE WORLD'S FIRST AEROPLANE HERE BY DECLARING THE GRIFFONIAN SYNDICATE’S NATIONAL EXHIBITION, OPEN!” The crowd wasted no time in making their way into the entrance queue. We put a lot of forethought into how to prevent overcrowding, and the solution came down to simply limiting the amount of guests inside the place at one time. The doormen even had a specially made mechanical device, purely for keeping track of how many occupants were in the building.
And so, the Exposition finally started, Dee and I decided to spend the rest of the evening at home relaxing.
The whole event was a massive success, and despite the thing with the dragons and Equestria, I don’t think that griffon morale has been this high in a long time.
So, after 27 years on this planet, the gears are finally starting to turn again, full speed. If the world we were living in before was at the level of the early Victorian industrial revolution, I was bringing the world into the roarin’ 20s, baby! All the consumerism without fuckin’ prohibition and without a pesky depression to stop it!
…
Hopefully. In fact, I planned to hopefully weaken Equestria in the long run, just to make absolutely sure they wouldn’t be a threat. But I mean, shit.
The more I think about it, the more I realize that Equestria fell when Celestia and Luna retired. Don’t get me wrong, Twilight is a good ruler to her citizens, being kind and just, like Celestia always was… without the sharp teeth to keep certain people in line.
But, until then, there was something pressing I had to get out of the way. Something urgent, which would require a lot of attention.
---
I was sitting at the table reading a book, and Mamma was working on making her tomato sauce. See, I was sitting in the dining room because I liked the wonderful aromas that come from Mamma’s cookin’. That, and I didn’t want to be too far from her, as she promised to be with me when it eventually happens. It was relatively early in the morning since the sauce takes all day to make, but thankfully, my wife can take my place.
So, that just left the two of us. I’d been getting cramps all morning- so I was a little grumpy.
“See, if anyone tries to tell you that you gotta slice garlic razor thin, they’re fulla shit.” She said, and I hummed as a way of saying I know. “Ya hear?”
“Yeah, Ma.” Hate it when she does that.
“See, there’s this old housewives tale that if you slice the garlic real thin like, it’ll liquify in the pan with just a little oil. If anyone tries to tell you that, whack ‘em with the rolling pin!” still trying to read, over here. Also, I don’t think she realized that whack has another meaning to me.
“Uh-huh.” I said, starting the page from the beginning. After a few more minutes, I decided to speak up. “Don’t put too many onions in the sauce.” Last time she made it, I thought she used too much onion- but it was still a fantastic sauce.
She scoffed at me. “I ain’t usin’ too many onions!” She defended her decision, “Just three small onions, that’s all I’m usin’.” I looked up from the page I was reading, cocking an eyebrow at her.
“Three onions? How many cans of tomatoes you got?” I asked, wanting to make sure dinner was perfect for tonight.
“Two, great big cans a’ tomatoes!” She sounded exasperated, and waved the nearby wooden spoon menacingly. “Girl, you don’t tell me how to cook! I taught you everything there is to know about cookin, you think I don’t know what I’m doin?” I raised my hands defensively, though I knew she wouldn’t do anything. Also, that wasn’t true. A lot of the stuff I know about cooking, I learned as a human.
“Look, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it, alright?” She narrowed her eyes at me and huffed.
“That’s what I thought.” She went back to the preparation like it was nothing, and I realized- shit, now I know how it feels to be on the receiving end of being threatened with a mundane object and a glare.
After a few minutes of trying, I gave up on trying to read anymore. I’m just too distracted by my own thoughts, to be honest.
“Hey, Ma?” I got her attention, but she was very much focused on the meat, which was currently frying in the bottom of her pot. “What should I name my baby?” Truth be told, I haven’t really put much thought into the name. Or rather, I was lowkey putting it off. It was decided that I would pick the name after Dee suggested we name our baby Crown Royal, which I shot down immediately.
When I asked her where the name came from, she just shrugged. Fuckin’ pony names.
Ever vigilant of her sauce, she responded- “Well, I mean, that’s your choice. I don’t wanna name your baby for you, ya know?” She removed the browned meat from the pot and threw in the onions and garlic with a dash of tomato paste, a nice sizzle coming from the kitchen.
“I know, but… I dunno.” I muttered to myself, resting my chin on my hands. “Why’d you name me Leona?” I asked her- and she actually looked up from the sauce. After a few moments, she looked back at her work and explained.
“I named you after my best friend from when I was a really little hen.” She said as the onions sizzled away. “I don’t even remember her last name, but I absolutely remembered that first name.” She had a faint smile on her beak which quickly faded. She then cracked open a bottle of red wine, took a sip, then used it to deglaze the onions before adding the tomatoes.
“What happened?” I asked, unsure if that was a good idea. She answered after a few seconds.
“Moved away. Never saw her again after that.” Seeing her bothered expression, I decided to not push the matter any further.
I was just brainstorming names to myself while Mamma finally finished up getting the sauce ready. All that was left to do was keep periodically stirring it and eventually add the meatballs. That’d happen in like, the last hour.
She took her seat across from me and put on her reading glasses before starting a book herself. I’d be joining her soon, hopefully. I’m just waiting for these contractions to start dying down. I felt a particularly sharp pain and clutched my stomach, lowering my head.
“Sweetie!? Baby, what’s wrong!?” Before I knew it, Mamma was on the other side of the table to fawn over me.
“Yeah, I’m fine, cramps.” I said, suppressing a wince. She grabbed my hand and held it in hers.
“Sweetie… it’s almost time.” My eyes widened and I started to hyperventilate.
“N-no, that’s impossible! My-my due date isn’t for a few more days!” I held my belly with my other hand, and Mamma looked me in the eyes.
“Sweetie, that was never a 100% guarantee and you know it.” She spoke firmly yet reassuringly, but I was such a fuckin’ wreck.
“But… But I’m not ready y-yet!” I felt a slight tug in my lower regions, followed by a sensation of warm, trickling water. I knew exactly what it meant, we both did. My water was broken and we needed to move, now.
Mamma grabbed a wooden spoon and tucked it under her wing- I paid it no mind at the time, as I was too busy trying to focus on breathing steadily. My heart felt like a machine gun as it pounded away in my chest. She helped me out of my chair and helped me out of the house, where several guards that patrolled the outside of my house ran over to see what was going on.
It was apparent what was happening- thankfully, they already had a carriage ready. I got inside, but before we left, Mamma pointed the wooden spoon at a guard.
“YOU!” She demanded, and the guy she chose actually saluted my mother.
“YES, MA’AM!” He yelled, straightening his figure and standing at attention. She took the wooden spoon and forced it into his hands.
“Make sure to keep the sauce stirring!” She demanded firmly, the soldier then saluting and sprinting off into the house. “ADD THE MEATBALLS AT FIVE, THEN TAKE IT OFF THE BURNER AFTER AN HOUR!” She yelled, and we all heard a faint yes ma’am! Coming from inside the house.
Mamma barreled into the carriage, and it was moving before the door was shut or she was even in her seat.
“Mamma?” I got her attention in between deep breaths as she got settled in. “I’m… I’m scared. Genuinely.” I nervously bit my finger, a nervous tick that only really happens when something has me really worried. Thankfully mamma came to my rescue, gently grabbing my hand and looking me in the eyes.
“You’re gonna be alright, baby.” Her soothing voice and soft breathing helped immensely, and my breathing slowly started normalizing. “You’re made of tough stuff and you make me proud.” She beamed at me and I sniffled, tears forming in the corners of my eyes. God, my mind was an utter whirlwind of emotions and feelings.
“Hey, listen.” She said with a smile, using a hand to gently lift my chin up. “I’ve been through this too, ya know. It’s scary- but I’m gonna need you to relax. Deep breaths, baby.” She breathed in and I tried my hardest to mimic her. “Deep breaths, everything is gonna be alright. Your guards are sending out runners so Dee can meet us at the hospital.”
While that news made me feel a lot better, nothing could really distract from the aching I felt below. When we got to the hospital, there was an army of nurses and doctors there to load me up onto a wheeled bed, charging down the hallway and using the reinforced foot of the bedframe to force the doors open.
God help anyone who happens to be on the other side.
And the entire way there, Mamma was keeping up at my bedside. I was quickly put into a room, and the doctors got everything ready.
Mamma gripped my hand tight in hers, her eyes barely leaving mine. “Focus on me, baby. Just let them do their job, it’s time for you to relax.” Once again her breathing was slow and deliberate, so I forced myself to focus on that.
The door slammed open, knocking a nurse over. “WHERE IS SHE!?” My wife yelled before darting over to my bedside. I smiled as she approached.
“I was wondering where you were.” I said as she threw her arms around me and kissed me on the cheek.
“How do you feel?” She asked, and I snorted.
“Like there’s a pissed off cat inside of me trying to claw its way out.” I sighed as I felt my contractions ramp up again. “It’s like… pressure. Like I’m being blown up with a bike pump.” My wife loosely held my other arm, which I rested on my gut.
“That pressure’ll be gone, very soon.” Mamma assured me, and I decided to lay on my back to help with the pain.
Soon, I got the signal from the doctor to start pushing- and when I tell you that it was probably the worst pain I’ve ever felt in my life, it is with no exaggeration. I was literally howling in pain in between bouts of pushing, and I wasn’t sure if I was making any progress. I honest to fuck felt like an overinflated balloon about to burst- Like, if the doctor poked my gut with a toothpick, that’d be it for me.
“Sweetie, look at me!” Mamma yelled, and I looked at her with what was probably a look of desperation in my eyes. I could definitely feel the tears of pain running down my face. “Imagine you’re about to throw up- use those muscles to push.” I did as she asked, not like I had any better ideas.
“Keep going, you’re doing great!” It’s working! I grit my beak in determination, a look of fury painting my features. I pulled my arm away from Mamma and with each hand, I gripped the railing on that hospital bed so hard that my knuckles were probably white as snow.
Going through my head was all the accomplishments and all the trials, and all the bullshit that it took to get to this point. All the stress, all the work, all the effort, all the lying. I managed to gaslight an entire nation into putting me in charge, while at the same time fighting a war against our ancient enemies. I was buried alive and had to have a leg amputated. I almost shot myself in the fucking head. I guess what I’m saying is… Mamma didn’t raise no bitch.
I laid my head back, clamped my eyes shut, and got to work. My ears rang intensely and I let out a yell, but not from the pain. No, this was the type of yell that makes a knight in shining armor run away in fear for his life. Some type of ghastly, barbaric ululation that reminded me of the sounds a crow makes.
Then I realized- it wasn’t a scream. It was a roar.
The pain intensified and amplified the more I pushed. It felt like my snatch was stretched ten feet wide and lined with salt and carpet burns.
“They’re crowning!” This, apparently, was the so-called ring of fire. It is very aptly named.
I faintly heard a baby’s cry, followed by a sliver of relief.
“We’re gonna need you to keep going! A little longer!” I wasn’t sure who yelled it, but I nodded and obeyed regardless. After what felt like literal hours of pushing, I suddenly had an intense feeling of relief, like the overinflated balloon had some air left out. I was still sore as fuck down there and I laid back, panting heavily.
Then I was hit with another wave of contractions and started pushing on instinct. That must’ve been the placenta- it was considerably easier than the main show.
I was drenched in sweat and the stress and tension I felt through my entire body faded as I took the time to catch my breath. I slowly grabbed the railing of the bed to help lift myself up.
“Congratulations, Mrs. Grimfeather.” The doctor approached me with something that made me choked up. “You gave birth to a healthy little hen.”
Eyes wide open in shock, I simply held my hands out. She was still covered in postnatal funk and only partially cleaned with a towel- but I couldn’t give less of a fuck about that. I remember that the first words I said aloud were “She’s… so tiny.” her little eyelids fluttered open for the first time, revealing big, bright eyes of dark amber.
She looked up at me with a faint smile, and I honestly think my heart physically melted in my chest. I held my baby close to my chest, making sure she felt nice and warm. Tears were uncontrollably running down my cheeks and I had this big, stupid grin on my face.
My wife, that bitch, brought a camera! And when I tell you I looked like shit, I really mean I look like I just woke up in an alley after a three day long amphetamine binge. It actually looked hilarious- especially in black and white, Mamma looked like a more put-together version of me, like a before and after photo.
Meth. Not even once.
“Well… Did you think of a name yet?” Mamma asked me, “Or are you still deciding?” I looked down at the little infant in my arms, although the image of her beautiful eyes was still firmly in the forefront of my brain.
There is only one name that I can think of alongside that mental image.
“Anastasia. That’s her name.” I’ll have to make sure her guards stay close as soon as she’s old enough to visit the barber shop on her own. “Her name’s Anastasia… But I’m gonna be calling her Annie, because I can.”
The rest of the day spent at the hospital was a bit of a blur. But thankfully, they found both my baby… No, they found Annie and I to be healthy enough to go home. I carried her near my chest, using a pouch like Mamma did with me when I was little.
As soon as we walked through the door, I got a whiff of something that made my knees feel like jelly. I was fucking starving- I didn’t eat at the hospital because hospital food sucks and I refused to eat it. I mean, I got a baby to feed- I don’t know if that crap would affect how my milk tastes and I didn’t wanna risk it.
I also noticed that my home was particularly clean. Like, there was not a speck of dust to be found on any shelf or old picture frame. And when we walked into the living room, remember that guard Mamma conscripted for Sauce Duty? Well, he was in a panic trying to put his uniform on.
“At attention.” I said, and he froze, straightening his back and saluting… with his shirt completely covering his head. “What the hell are you doing?”
After a few moments of awkward silence, he sheepishly said- “P-putting my uniform back on, m-ma’am!” I mean, you could tell he definitely wasn’t cranking one out in here- I think he was just concerned about getting court-martialed for being out of uniform while on duty.
I yanked the shirt off of his face, giving him a flat expression. I spoke plainly and neutrally, as my emotions and future course of action depend entirely on his next words. The look in my eyes was intense, and he started shaking a little.
“You did keep the sauce stirring, right?” I asked simply, and he blinked. Before my patience ran thin, he said
“Ah, o-of course I have!” He nervously stuttered, then turned to Mamma- “It-it’s a v-very good s-sauce, too!” Upon hearing the wonderful news, I let out a sigh of relief and threw an arm around his back.
“You’re a fuckin lifesaver. Seriously.” His back stiffened, but I paid him no mind as I made my way to the kitchen. I felt like I could cry tears of joy when I saw the table set and the sauce under a heating lamp.
When we all sat down for dinner that night, I actually invited the guard! I mean, shit. He helped make the sauce, he oughta have some. I’ll definitely have to talk to Mamma about the wisdom of just giving some random guard a spoon and telling him to start stirring, but I had a feeling that was an argument I’d lose regardless.
Besides, I wasn’t complaining. The guy’s name was Paul- he was a real nice fella, when he got over the shock of being invited for dinner by his country’s Premier Dictator. And I mean, he even cleaned a bunch of our house out of boredom and set the table. How could I not show my appreciation?
When he eventually went home for the night, he left with a jar fulla homemade tomato sauce and a story he’d be telling his friends at the bar for the rest of his life.
As for Annie? After we got her cleaned up at the hospital, we saw that she had black feathers like I did, a white coat like Adrian has… and a light gray beak. She slept peacefully in her crib that night while Dee and I just excitedly rambled to each other as to what the future might hold.
Eventually Mamma went out for a smoke, and there was no way in Hell I wasn’t joining her. My first cigarette in nine months felt heavenly, and I stood next to Mamma, leaning over the rail and just talking.
“Why do cigarettes have to be bad for babies?” I mused to myself. Mamma just snorted.
“What, are they healthy for adults?” She asked sarcastically as she used the butt of her current cigarette to light another.
“It’s healthy for me.” I said with a giggle as I used my lighter to light up another.
It was a chilly fall night, and the sounds of crickets and a gentle breeze filled the silence. I had a cigarette and even knocked back a couple celebratory shots after dinner.
Overall? I was feeling pretty damn good.
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The same, however, could not be said about Twilight Sparkle, or King Thorax… As it turns out recent events have caused their friendship to be… put on hold, so to speak.