Pain lances throughout my skull as the first vestiges of consciousness return to me. A few moments pass before I realize the source of my discomfort. There, right at the back of my head, is a large knot of flesh. The pain itself is being spurred on by something agonizingly frigid—like an ice pack—pressed up against it. What in the name of Tartarus did I do last night?

With a groan, I pull myself off of the ice-pack and the pillow beneath, displacing a familiar maroon blanket that was draped over my still-clothed form. Wait, wasn’t that in my bag? “Ugh,” I groan, rubbing the back of my head. “What the heck happened?”

My eyes wander across the crystal-lit room, dancing from surface to surface until finally locking on the griffon pacing in front of the opposite bed. Oh right! I had the shit scared out of me and knocked myself out. Good job at making first impressions, I’m sure that’ll go over great.

Hearing my voice, her head snaps in my direction and she straightens the rosy brown feathers on her wings. “Oh thank Artemis you’re awake!” she cries out, none of her earlier gruffness present. The griffoness sprints over to my side, a worried frown contorting her... beak? “I swear on my forebears, I didn’t think you’d flip out like that! Are you okay?”

I can’t help but look at her in confusion. Was she just trying to play a prank or something? “Eh, it’ll take a lot more than just some head trauma to do me in.” I mutter, rubbing the tender back of my head with a hoof. “With everything I’ve been through, minor brain damage would be a welcome addition.” I can’t help but let out a small laugh when I think back to the events of just almost a year prior. “I’m Silver Script. I’m your new roomie, I guess!” I exclaim, offering a hoof to shake.

The griffoness—Gale, I recall Velvet calling her—looks at me in confusion. “Uhh... I’m Gale... Gale von Gilcrest,” she replies with a light accent, gingerly taking my hoof into her talons before shaking. “I’m sorry about scaring you, I forget that ponies usually have a bad reaction the first time they meet a griffon... Given how young—”

“First, I’m not as young as you think I am; I’m twenty-two,” I interject, quickly. “I’m just stuck in this diminutive pony form. You didn’t scare me because you’re a griffon, either. You being so close and me being half-asleep triggered a natural flight response... and now I sound like a complete arsehole.” My hoof is quick to withdraw from her grasp and cover my face. “Sorry, the noble I had to sit beside in the ceremony really raised my hackles.”

Gale only stares at me in disbelief, allowing her claw to drop back down to the floor. “You’re not scared of me?” she asks, incredulously. “You know griffons are predatory, eat meat, and in the past even ate ponies, right? That doesn’t bother you?”

Pushing off my blanket—did she go through my bag looking for something that might comfort me?—I crawl out of the bed. Immediately, I feel the need to disrobe; as a pony, being clothed for too long simply leaves me feeling claustrophobic. “No, why should it?” I ask in a dismissive tone as I pull my sweater off. “Up until a year ago, I ate meat and I was damn proud of it. I’m just glad I can still eat fish.”

Turning my head to face her as I smooth and fold the sweater on the nearby desk, I can’t help but be a bit concerned by the look on her face; I think I broke her. “Ate meat...” I hear her whisper to herself. “But ponies hate meat! Most get sick just imagining eating animal flesh!”

Dropping my skirt to the floor, I can’t help but give her a playful grin. “You live in a world full of magical ponies and princesses who raise and lower the moon,” I begin, trying not to laugh as I wiggle my flank to emphasize my blank flank. “Will it come as any shock to you that I was not always a pony?”

If my statement about eating meat gave the griffon pause, her beak is completely agape now and her eyes look like she’s trying not to let them cross. I might even say she looks dizzy. Sliding my stockings down my legs, I can’t help but think that it is time to change the subject. “So, about the bed situation... Was I really in your bed? I can take the other one if it’s an issue.”

For a moment, she says nothing, instead looking like she needs to lay down now. When she does speak, it’s dazedly so at first. “Huh? Oh, no. I just got in when I decided to surprise you,” she says, abashed. “It doesn’t matter to me one way or the other.” Gale looks like she can’t help but stare. “You weren’t always a pony? What were you, then?”

Placing the last of my shed clothing on the desk along with my sweater, I sigh. “Can this be a story for another time?” I ask hesitantly. “We’ve just met, and since we’re going to be living together for the next year, I shouldn’t unload all of my crazy on you now.” My stomach lets out a low growl, alerting us both to the fact that I’m hungry. “How long was I out, anyway?”

Not speaking, Gale directs a thumb—er... talon—toward a wall clock mounted on one of the buttresses. That thing wasn’t there before; I’m certain of that much. It must have come with my befuddled roommate. Either way, it’s clear by the big hand that I’ve been out for a while. It has been long enough that not only have I missed lunch, but it is also close enough to dinnertime.

Again, my stomach loudly announces its presence. This time, my rumbling tummy is loud enough to snap the griffoness out of her stupor. She looks at me with a raised eyebrow before smiling awkwardly. “You... uhh... you wanna go get some grub, k—Silver?” she asks, quickly biting down on her words. “Sorry, griffons don’t mind being called kids when they’re young. Ponies are just so sensitive and—” She looks at me. “—you don’t care, do you?”

“Unless you talking about sensitive ponies leads to me eating sooner,” I reply with a wry grin. “Nope.”

Gale is almost too eager to lead me to the ‘chow hall’. However, instead of leading me up the concrete stairs and out of Sagittarius Hall, she leads me down two levels and through a corridor that, if my general idea of the layout is correct—not that it speaks for much given my sense of direction—is taking us somewhere beneath the center of the atrium. The further we get down the corridor, the more the architecture changes into something more traditionally Canterlot in style.

While she leads me towards the mess, she tells me a bit about herself. Surprisingly, instead of something guard or combat related, she’s here on an—anthropological, no equinological; damn it, let’s just go with sociological—purpose. She has an intense interest in folklore, and wishes to study folkloristics so that she can preserve the folk tales they all grew up with for future generations. I kinda had her figured for linguistics or early childhood education.

Now, a big part about being lead somewhere is that the other party is generally in front of you. That in itself isn’t particularly a problem. Unfortunately, I am once again reminded of the fact that Equestrian and Griffon societies aren’t big on pants. You know how cats walk with their tails held high when they’re happy about something? I’m beginning to think that griffons are related more to the domestic house-cats than lions in that aspect.

Now, it’s not like I’m purposely looking, but like I said, being lead means that the other party is in front of you. Coupled with her display of happiness, and everything is on display. From her very feline vulva—trust me, when you have a happy siamese in your face and trying to get your attention, you’re going to get an eyeful—to her pert little... Damn it, no! I am not going to be that guy who can’t keep his eyes off of the other guys in the locker-room—or girl, for that matter.

Just as I try to shake the stupid thought out of my head, however, my face ends up bouncing embarrassingly off her own behind. If Gale is at all perturbed by this little accident, she makes no indication. Instead, she waits until I come up beside her—blushing, might I add—before sweeping a claw across the air before her, urging me to take in the large chamber before us.

“Here we are, Silver Script,” she says, shooting me a sidelong grin. “Every dorm funnels into here, so you get to see everyone almost guaranteed, twice a day. That can be either good or bad. For a griffon like me, it means time with my own kind.”

She leads me into the large mess hall. Tables fill the near side of the hall, with two separate service counters on the far side—griffons lined up before one, and ponies at the other. In addition to the separate lines for food, there is a clear line drawn in the metaphorical sand between the griffon and pony populous. There’s a small portion of the hall where the tables are occupied almost exclusively by griffons.

“I suppose it means time you can spend together with other nobles,” Gale comments, nodding in the direction of an approaching unicorn. Sure enough as Applejack is honest, there’s a familiar red unicorn approaching. As if there was any doubt to whom it was, the mare’s gold french braid dances regally on her withers.

“Silver Script, dear, how delightful it is to see you again!” the mare calls out in that posh accent. As soon as she says this, all eyes in the room are on us, as though she’s already made her royal status known to all. “How unfortunate it is that our earlier conversation was interrupted. Shall we resume over dinner?” Aqua Regia glances at Gale for only a moment. “Your bodyguard is of course welcome to join us, provided she can eat a civilized meal.”

As she draws nearer, I can just make out her cutie mark. It looks almost like a drop of gold—acid, more like it—being dropped on a half-melted bar of platinum. It’s almost like her special talent is her corrosive personality. Turning my gaze away from her cutie mark, I look her in the eyes. Sure, I could be polite, but honestly? Her bigotry sickens me. It just pisses me off so much. It’s not just the bigotry, though. It’s everything that she stands for that really gets to me.

“Firstly, this is my roommate and friend, not my bodyguard. You must be pretty bigoted to just assume that she’s a warrior because of her species! So high and mighty of you!” I say loudly, baring my teeth and letting my ears fall flat against my bed. There’s a loud gasp from a number of noble-ponies at a nearby table, and an appreciative cat-call from a nearby griffon table. “I also think that you and your bloodline have a terrible penchant for assuming, and we have a saying where I’m from. Assume makes an ass of ‘u’ and me.” I glance at the mule at a nearby table. “No offense.”

Looking back at the so-called princess, I have to bite back the low growl rising in my throat. “Back at the ceremony? You went and assumed that because of my small size and confident, tradition-challenging wardrobe that I was one of you—a trust fund brat. I was hoping my comment about nobility riding the backs of commoners was enough to clue you in, but it seems I was mistaken...” I say, my face now crimson with frustration. “Leave it to a pony related to the fool that drunkenly accosted Princess Luna to go making stupid mistakes like that. Take your noble privilege and shit on it for all I care. A stuck-up noble like you is of no use to me.”

The mess hall is absolutely abuzz with conversation now, but I don’t care; I just want to grab a bite to eat, and this stuck-up noble is in my way. Given the high ceiling present in the chamber, I have just enough space to leave the stunned wretch fuming on the spot. So that’s just what I do; I take off over her head, and land at the end of the pony line.

In spite of all of the stares and whispers springing up around me, I manage to get through the line and to the service counter without issue. “Quite a spot of drama and it ain’t even the first day of classes,” the server observes, idly. “What can I do ye for?”

I take a moment to scan the menu placards behind him. “I guess I’ll take the tuna alfredo and a glass of sweet apple cider.” I could have chosen the hard cider—there are more than a few alcoholic beverages on menu, and Celestia knows I probably need one after all that—but as I’ve probably said before, I’m still not comfortable with alcohol. “Go big or go home, right?” I reply to his earlier remark. “I’m sure I made a lasting impression.”

“Ayup,” the stallion dryly remarks, filling out my tray and placing a cider-filled glass on it. “Ain’t seen nothin’ like that since that Blueblood whelp attended. Ye might have won over the regular folk, but ye best sleep with yer back to the wall, lest ye be findin’ daggers in it.”

… Great. I always forget how stabby nobles get when somepony wrongs them in fiction. “I’ll keep that in mind,” I groan, taking the tray into my teeth before scampering off.

The trip through the cafeteria, on the other hoof doesn’t go nearly as well as just going through the line and acquiring my dinner. As I wander through the rows of crowded tables, I’m met with awkward glances, furtive shakes of heads. More often than should not, a pony throws a glance in the general direction of Aqua, who is sitting smugly at a large table surrounded by her clique of glaring toadies. Yeah, mister server pony, you got this all pegged right.

“Oi, little lassie!” a heavily accented voice calls out. “Don’t’cha be standin’ there all sad-like!” Turning my head in the direction of the voice, I spot a table occupied by two large griffons. An Irish griffon? Seriously? Accents, how do they work? “Ya done right by us folk, so come sit a spell, an’ we’ll treat ya right in turn.”

Initially, I feel inclined to politely reject his offer and instead take my meal back to the dorm room, but a thought strikes me, and I’m drawn back to one of my sessions with Dr. Clear Conscience. “You have a terrible habit of pushing ponies away, Silver,” his voice echoes in my mind. “If you treat everypony like your enemy, eventually they will be.” He’s right, too. I’ve already alienated myself from a majority from the student body in the most spectacular way possible. I can’t afford to slap aside an offered hoof just because I might want to brood over my own stupidity.

As if to reassure me, Gale seats herself at the very table offering me hospice. “It’s fine Silver; this crew’s cool,” she soothes, setting her own tray down. “‘Won’t meet a more pony-friendly bunch in all the land’, isn’t that what you always say, Gearalt?”

“Aye,” the Irish-sounding griffon grunts in reply. “Come on now, little lassie.”

Taking one last look around the hall, I shrug and set my own tray down beside Gale’s and seat myself on the cushion beside her. “Hi,” I say sheepishly. “My name is Silver Script. I only look diminutive, so please don’t treat me like a kid.” All three griffons at the table raise their eyebrows at the comment. “Not much to say about me... I’m here to study alchemy, hoping to crack the cockatrice petrification equation. I don’t tolerate stupidity or bigotry, as you’ve probably already seen.”

“Well then, I see you’ve already met Gale here,” Gearalt the griffon says, nodding. “I’m Gearalt of the Shillelagh Highlands, and I’m a bard.” He gestures a talon at the huge scarred griffon beside him. “This here’s Gaius Germanus. He’s a former gladiator, and is gonna to become an officer in the royal guard for some reason.” I watch in amusement as Gaius punches Gearalt in the shoulder. “What? It’s weird ‘cause ye can’t rightly speak with yer throat torn out, can ye? Used to wrestle bears, he did.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet both of you,” I say, happily taking a bite of my meal. “I’m just glad not everyp-everybody—now there’s a word I haven’t used in ages—is afraid of those stuck-up nobles.”

Gale and Gearalt both laugh at my statement, as though it’s funnier than it really is. The mute of a brute beside the griffon bard can only make so much as a chuffing noise, which might have been humorous if not for his grizzled appearance, before using his claws to make a series of motions. Honestly, it doesn’t seem all that different from American Sign Language, though it doesn’t help me all that much. I never had a need to learn it.

Thankfully, Gale is quick enough to pick up on my confusion and translates for her friend. “‘Takes a lot of guts to stand up pony-folk nobles. See how long until she tries to have you arrested,’ is what he said,” she explains, snickering at her own attempt at a gruff voice befitting the warrior before her. “Enough about those walking coin purses, though. Our food is getting cold.” As if to emphasize her point, my own stomach rumbles in agreement. “Let’s eat.”

She doesn’t have to say that twice. If I was a quick eater as a human, taking cutlery out of the equation just speeds up the process even more. Choking and whether or not I even taste what I’m eating is a valid concern, I suppose, but it’s just the way I am. Why waste a large amount of time eating when I can do it quickly and have more time to do other things?

Still, this tuna alfredo is just as good as anything I can cook, if not better. Given the number of nobles attending the university, I reckon it’s only reasonable that they’d have some really good cooks working here. Even Gale’s food smells good. Turning my eyes from my own decimated dinner, I look at what Gale is gingerly picking away at with a fork. “Is that a chicken caesar salad I smell?”

All at once, my seemingly innocuous comment draws looks of guilt from the griffons at the table as they look at their own meals. Even Gale, despite me having told her earlier that I wasn’t always a pony, looks ashamed of her dinner. None of them, it seems, thinks to question why I would be able to recognize the scent of cooked animal flesh. It’s all just shame.

“It’s been so long that I’m not even sure I can remember what chicken tastes like.” I sigh, wistfully looking at the scrap of meat speared tauntingly on Gale’s fork. The combined stare of all three griffons is enough to make me realize that I’m drooling. Wiping the drool away with a fetlock, I just look at Gale. “What? Being a pony is hard when you have to give up one of the best things about being omnivorous. Honestly, I have to wonder if Candy and Doc Forceps were lying about meat making ponies sick just ‘cause it doesn’t match their idea of natural. It smells good enough to me.”

“I really shouldn’t,” Gale replies, avoiding my pleading look.

“Just a single bite, please?”

“C’mon, Gale, I don’t think a little nibble will kill the little lass,” Gearalt goads, grinning as Gaius lets out his own amused little chuff. “‘sides, I kinda wanna see this.”

The female griffon’s shoulders sag as she buckles under peer pressure. “Fine,” she says, offering me the fork. “Just a little bite.”

Gingerly, I lean my head forward and take the piece of meat between my teeth and pull it from the fork, drawing many gasps from nearby tables. As the succulent juices of well-cooked chicken squeeze forth from the piece of meat, I nearly melt with joy. That flavor is unmistakably chicken, and it is glorious! There’s no revulsion or sudden illness. There’s just me, the chicken, and happiness welling within me. There is absolutely no way I’m going to regret this.

By this point, however, nearby ponies are whispering rather feverishly among themselves. Occasionally, I can make out some parts of their conversation. ‘Mare of Thrace’ comes up incredibly often, along with such lovely phrases as ‘crazy’ and ‘doom us all’. I don’t care though. At least I got chicken.

“Heh,” I say almost drunkenly, swallowing the piece. “Tastes just like chicken.” After that, I burst into laughter, unable to contain my amusement at my own joke. Reaching over, I nudge Gale in the shoulder with a hoof. The three griffons all look slightly disturbed, but can’t help laugh nervously. “Hey, Gale! It tastes like chicken!” I cheer gaily, before falling backwards on the cushion beneath me.

Author's Notes:

I won't lie. This chapter was much more fun for me to write than the previous one, particularly as I came closer to the end. The events of this chapter are ones that I've particularly wanted to get to for a while now, and though they've ultimately become different from the original plan in my head, I am in no way unsatisfied here.

I want to give thanks to NightmareKnight and E3gner for their efforts in helping me get this edited.

I hope you all have enjoyed this particular chapter as much as I did.