Post by Bardigan on Dec 7, 2012 3:57:53 GMT -5
What kind of night in Ponyville would it be if there wasn't some kind of late night disturbance? Bardigan is ever the gentlepony and must knock before he enters the library, especially given this late at night the occupants might need some warning. "Hello?" he asks, poking his head inside and managing not to make a clatter with his heavily laden saddlebags as he comes in, which he secures with tight holds by his wing. "Miss Sparkle? Spike? Midnight? ... Gilda?"
Gilda isn't asleep yet - she always goes to sleep way after the others. Twilight and Spike are snoozing upstairs, and she PRESUMES Midnight is in the basement or something. What, is she the little brat's foalsitter? Screw that. She's in the fridge, fixing herself a sandwich and a late night bloody mary. She huffs in frustration as the door creaks open. "We're closed! Come back tomorrow!" She shouts, then grouchily pads out of the kitchen with her sandwich and drink. "Oh, it's you."
"I presume that means you aren't going to chase me out," Bardigan says with a little smile. He does indeed come all the way in, closing the door gently behind him. "I'd hoped to find someone awake. Strange things are ahoof in Ponyville, but when are they not? And apart from that, the Hearth's Warming spirit is in the air." He lifts a wing and brushes it in the air over his head, taking a deep breath. "Ahh. Can you smell it, Gilda? That's mostly old parchment, but still!"
Gilda is already bored by the time you get to "Strange things are". Her eyes are thoroughly hooded, and she even takes a bite of her sandwich during your remarks. After a few noisy smacks, she says, "Man, you really don't shut up, do you? Look, what do you want? Get to the point. And stay there."
"Ahem. Yes." Bardigan begins rooting around through his saddlebag. "I know it's *quite* early, but the gift-giving mood came upon me hastily... erm, hold on... so much *stuff* in here..." He drops the saddlebag onto the table and 'ah ha!'s when he finds what he's looking for. It's...! A box, with a litle glass window. And inside is a diarama of the time the founders of Equestria discovered the Crystal Heart of Friendship. "Just in case you all needed some help decorating... oh! And the crystal inside has just a *bit* of magic..." He gives the box a little shake, and the crystal hanging above the six tiny pony figurines lights up. "I'm saving the real gifts for the actual day, but ah... I, um, had a little something for you, too."
With supreme disinterest, Gilda barely notices the diorama out of her peripheral vision, while she takes another generous beakfull of sandwich. "Yeah yeah," She replies with a distinct detachment. "I'll make sure Twilight gets it." She swallows, blinks, and adds, "Wait, for me?"
"For you!" Bardigan exclaims with renewed excitement, and begins rooting around again. "I thought... well, you seemed rather stuck on the idea of being just a griffon in a land full of ponies. So I thought you might like something a griffon might appreciate. At least, I hope so..." He gives a sheepish grin and pulls out another box. "It was a bit expensive, but, ah... I am rather rich and famous." He grins and turns it around to reveal... a preserved bunch of flowers. "This is the Deeproot Blossom. It grows only in the highlands of many areas griffons call home, like Eyriea or Clawrest. Features heavily in their lore and alchemy. A sturdy kind of plant... see how thick the stems are?" He smiles, fidgeting in his seat. "This particular specimen was enchanted to survive the long journey... should you choose to plant it, it should do just fine down here. Don't even need to water it much."
Throughout your explanation, Gilda transforms in the -opposite- direction as before. She moves from disinterested, gradually, to taken. Stricken. Then awestruck. She's barely conscious of her talons as they set her sandwich down and furtively reach out for the box of flowers. No, actually, she hasn't seen these. She doesn't know what they are until you tell her - Gilda spent her entire life growing up around ponies. So as far as 'what griffons are like' or 'what griffons do', you may as well know as much as her. But, as with so many things, it's the thought that counts. Gilda knows this - you are honoring her heritage, and the -what- of who she is. She gingerly accepts the box. No words come out. Her eyes wander, anxiously, darting, to yours. "Why did you......?"
"You are lonely," Bardigan almost whispers, with sincerity coloring his voice, gaze steady, but humble and shaded by his hat. "I thought... it would be good to remind you that you don't need to be. That... there are things in this world made for *you,* too. That only you could appreciate. Not just ponies."
Still more or less speechless, Gilda looks almost hurt at your first response - she winces a wince just barely above perception. It hurts to be figured out so soundly. No one was supposed to -know- she was lonely. Her heart feels like it has several toothpicks poking into it. But the soothing overtones of your explanation wash over her, and leave her warm. She has to force down a wave of feelings that want to make her eyes misty and her face hot. "I don't know what to say." Her eyes meet yours, a bit glossier and more reflective than before. "Who are you?"
"Just Bardigan, more often than not. I fancy myself a gentlecolt sometimes," the poet replies with a thin smile. "It's just... always been important to me, to know my audience has gained something. There's always something out there for you. Even you, Gilda. I simply... wanted to bring you a little piece."
To look deeply into her eyes, you could tell that Gilda has somewhat gained her wits again. Her mind has spiraled off into its own trajectory, and is no longer under the hypnotism of the moment. Almost as if she hears your explanation through a veil. "Huh." She gives a pause. "Ponies mostly don't think of me. ...Thanks. I mean..." She squints, her avian eyelids pressing tightly over her eyes - so different, so alien from a pony's. "When they do, it's like... they're thinking of me as a charity or something. But this isn't like that." Her voice is low, raspy and private. You notice that, when she's not projecting loudly and proudly, her voice is rather unfeminine. She's become a completely different presence than when you entered - one that is vulnerable and shy. Insecure, even. You can tell a part of her is afraid, at any moment, someone is going to spy her in this vulnerable state and strike fear to the center of her heart. It's happened so many times before. Her eyes finally find yours again. "I'm sorry." She clears her throat, and tries again. "I'm sorry. I'm... not that nice."
Bardigan's smile is a strange one. There's some sympathy, but there's also some relief and that kind of happiness that comes from seeing someone else making progress in a hopeful endeavor. "Oh, it's not about just being 'nice,' at least for me. It's about realizing that you are an important part of the grand whole, that you have something to contribute. I couldn't stand seeing you always think there was something lacking. There's no need to apologize." His eyes, in contrast to Gilda's, have been steady and unwavering this entire time. "As long as you remember."
Gilda seems to have partially gotten over the fact that you know more about her, and about life in general, than she likes to admit anyone knows. "Yeah, but like... I don't feel like most ponies realize that." She confesses, looking frustrated, but not overblown and blustry like she usually is - just tired, worn down. Hurt. "I feel like, everything's kind of... whirlwinding around a certain six ponies, one in particular, and... there's no space for just some dumb griffon jerk in all this cosmic, legendary whatever. I feel like just... another grain of sand getting kicked up by the battles of titans, you know? I don't -like- that. I gotta feel important in my own way. I don't know why. I don't know why that's so damn important to me, but I gotta feel like I matter, and I need at least -some- part of my environment to reflect that. That's how it was back in Flight School; I was -almost- important. Then I got expelled, and that was it. Since then I've been..." She stops abruptly, blinking, and realizing she's been going on quite earnestly. "...A-anyway. Whatever. I don't care about all this Equestria crap. But thanks for the flowers. That was really cool."
"Cool. My work has never really been described as 'cool,'" Bardigan says with a toothy grin. "Thank you for that. And believe me... I know how that feels. Spend your life acting like somepony else, telling other ponies' stories, dressing up as heroes you know you'll never be... it makes you think, sometimes," he admits in a moment of honesty himself, eyes finally drifting to one side before snapping back into place. "But bit by bit, I am finding my own place. Just as you will yours." He takes a deep, smooth breath. "It is late," he whispers. "And I think I've burdened you with enough deep thoughts for tonight." He begins to stand, gathering his bags, and then pauses, walking around the table to stretch out his wing and touch her leg with it. "The Deeproot Blossom must dig hard and dig deep in order to flourish among the rocks. But flourish it does. Stay strong, Gilda." Last deep thought for the night, he *promises.*
Gilda hastily reaches out a forearm, talons extended. "Hey, look...." She insists, eyebrows tented in urgency. Her talons stop short of grasping for your front hoof, and pull back gently. "...Thanks. Thank you." She pauses, her breaths a bit curtailed and short. "Okay? I don't..." She furrows her brow, seeming like... like she's trying to get something out she can't quite parse into words. This has been intriguing, and she doesn't want it to flit away like a chance encounter. "Will you come back? I mean, I'm gonna probably be here a while."
"Come back? Of course! I live in this town, after all, and the ones who live here have grown dear to me," Bardigan says with a broad smile. "Intriguing and poetic as it may be if I was some ghostly ship that passes ponies in the night, I will return... still a big believer in little sand grain griffons."
Well, you can tell Gilda is touched. She's obviously only a -little- bit 'here', in the moment - her eyes and her slightly opened beak betray that she's more properly in her mind, in this feeling she's gotten, in the spaces between the letters in the questions sprouting out of her consciousness from this encounter with you. "...Thanks, again. I'll be here." She says, her words promising more than they outwardly say.
Bardigan's wing stretches out just a little more, actually holding on to Gilda rather than merely touching. "I look forward to it," he says earnestly, and then, with a tip of his hat, he slips back out the door with nary a creak of hooves on wood.
Gilda isn't asleep yet - she always goes to sleep way after the others. Twilight and Spike are snoozing upstairs, and she PRESUMES Midnight is in the basement or something. What, is she the little brat's foalsitter? Screw that. She's in the fridge, fixing herself a sandwich and a late night bloody mary. She huffs in frustration as the door creaks open. "We're closed! Come back tomorrow!" She shouts, then grouchily pads out of the kitchen with her sandwich and drink. "Oh, it's you."
"I presume that means you aren't going to chase me out," Bardigan says with a little smile. He does indeed come all the way in, closing the door gently behind him. "I'd hoped to find someone awake. Strange things are ahoof in Ponyville, but when are they not? And apart from that, the Hearth's Warming spirit is in the air." He lifts a wing and brushes it in the air over his head, taking a deep breath. "Ahh. Can you smell it, Gilda? That's mostly old parchment, but still!"
Gilda is already bored by the time you get to "Strange things are". Her eyes are thoroughly hooded, and she even takes a bite of her sandwich during your remarks. After a few noisy smacks, she says, "Man, you really don't shut up, do you? Look, what do you want? Get to the point. And stay there."
"Ahem. Yes." Bardigan begins rooting around through his saddlebag. "I know it's *quite* early, but the gift-giving mood came upon me hastily... erm, hold on... so much *stuff* in here..." He drops the saddlebag onto the table and 'ah ha!'s when he finds what he's looking for. It's...! A box, with a litle glass window. And inside is a diarama of the time the founders of Equestria discovered the Crystal Heart of Friendship. "Just in case you all needed some help decorating... oh! And the crystal inside has just a *bit* of magic..." He gives the box a little shake, and the crystal hanging above the six tiny pony figurines lights up. "I'm saving the real gifts for the actual day, but ah... I, um, had a little something for you, too."
With supreme disinterest, Gilda barely notices the diorama out of her peripheral vision, while she takes another generous beakfull of sandwich. "Yeah yeah," She replies with a distinct detachment. "I'll make sure Twilight gets it." She swallows, blinks, and adds, "Wait, for me?"
"For you!" Bardigan exclaims with renewed excitement, and begins rooting around again. "I thought... well, you seemed rather stuck on the idea of being just a griffon in a land full of ponies. So I thought you might like something a griffon might appreciate. At least, I hope so..." He gives a sheepish grin and pulls out another box. "It was a bit expensive, but, ah... I am rather rich and famous." He grins and turns it around to reveal... a preserved bunch of flowers. "This is the Deeproot Blossom. It grows only in the highlands of many areas griffons call home, like Eyriea or Clawrest. Features heavily in their lore and alchemy. A sturdy kind of plant... see how thick the stems are?" He smiles, fidgeting in his seat. "This particular specimen was enchanted to survive the long journey... should you choose to plant it, it should do just fine down here. Don't even need to water it much."
Throughout your explanation, Gilda transforms in the -opposite- direction as before. She moves from disinterested, gradually, to taken. Stricken. Then awestruck. She's barely conscious of her talons as they set her sandwich down and furtively reach out for the box of flowers. No, actually, she hasn't seen these. She doesn't know what they are until you tell her - Gilda spent her entire life growing up around ponies. So as far as 'what griffons are like' or 'what griffons do', you may as well know as much as her. But, as with so many things, it's the thought that counts. Gilda knows this - you are honoring her heritage, and the -what- of who she is. She gingerly accepts the box. No words come out. Her eyes wander, anxiously, darting, to yours. "Why did you......?"
"You are lonely," Bardigan almost whispers, with sincerity coloring his voice, gaze steady, but humble and shaded by his hat. "I thought... it would be good to remind you that you don't need to be. That... there are things in this world made for *you,* too. That only you could appreciate. Not just ponies."
Still more or less speechless, Gilda looks almost hurt at your first response - she winces a wince just barely above perception. It hurts to be figured out so soundly. No one was supposed to -know- she was lonely. Her heart feels like it has several toothpicks poking into it. But the soothing overtones of your explanation wash over her, and leave her warm. She has to force down a wave of feelings that want to make her eyes misty and her face hot. "I don't know what to say." Her eyes meet yours, a bit glossier and more reflective than before. "Who are you?"
"Just Bardigan, more often than not. I fancy myself a gentlecolt sometimes," the poet replies with a thin smile. "It's just... always been important to me, to know my audience has gained something. There's always something out there for you. Even you, Gilda. I simply... wanted to bring you a little piece."
To look deeply into her eyes, you could tell that Gilda has somewhat gained her wits again. Her mind has spiraled off into its own trajectory, and is no longer under the hypnotism of the moment. Almost as if she hears your explanation through a veil. "Huh." She gives a pause. "Ponies mostly don't think of me. ...Thanks. I mean..." She squints, her avian eyelids pressing tightly over her eyes - so different, so alien from a pony's. "When they do, it's like... they're thinking of me as a charity or something. But this isn't like that." Her voice is low, raspy and private. You notice that, when she's not projecting loudly and proudly, her voice is rather unfeminine. She's become a completely different presence than when you entered - one that is vulnerable and shy. Insecure, even. You can tell a part of her is afraid, at any moment, someone is going to spy her in this vulnerable state and strike fear to the center of her heart. It's happened so many times before. Her eyes finally find yours again. "I'm sorry." She clears her throat, and tries again. "I'm sorry. I'm... not that nice."
Bardigan's smile is a strange one. There's some sympathy, but there's also some relief and that kind of happiness that comes from seeing someone else making progress in a hopeful endeavor. "Oh, it's not about just being 'nice,' at least for me. It's about realizing that you are an important part of the grand whole, that you have something to contribute. I couldn't stand seeing you always think there was something lacking. There's no need to apologize." His eyes, in contrast to Gilda's, have been steady and unwavering this entire time. "As long as you remember."
Gilda seems to have partially gotten over the fact that you know more about her, and about life in general, than she likes to admit anyone knows. "Yeah, but like... I don't feel like most ponies realize that." She confesses, looking frustrated, but not overblown and blustry like she usually is - just tired, worn down. Hurt. "I feel like, everything's kind of... whirlwinding around a certain six ponies, one in particular, and... there's no space for just some dumb griffon jerk in all this cosmic, legendary whatever. I feel like just... another grain of sand getting kicked up by the battles of titans, you know? I don't -like- that. I gotta feel important in my own way. I don't know why. I don't know why that's so damn important to me, but I gotta feel like I matter, and I need at least -some- part of my environment to reflect that. That's how it was back in Flight School; I was -almost- important. Then I got expelled, and that was it. Since then I've been..." She stops abruptly, blinking, and realizing she's been going on quite earnestly. "...A-anyway. Whatever. I don't care about all this Equestria crap. But thanks for the flowers. That was really cool."
"Cool. My work has never really been described as 'cool,'" Bardigan says with a toothy grin. "Thank you for that. And believe me... I know how that feels. Spend your life acting like somepony else, telling other ponies' stories, dressing up as heroes you know you'll never be... it makes you think, sometimes," he admits in a moment of honesty himself, eyes finally drifting to one side before snapping back into place. "But bit by bit, I am finding my own place. Just as you will yours." He takes a deep, smooth breath. "It is late," he whispers. "And I think I've burdened you with enough deep thoughts for tonight." He begins to stand, gathering his bags, and then pauses, walking around the table to stretch out his wing and touch her leg with it. "The Deeproot Blossom must dig hard and dig deep in order to flourish among the rocks. But flourish it does. Stay strong, Gilda." Last deep thought for the night, he *promises.*
Gilda hastily reaches out a forearm, talons extended. "Hey, look...." She insists, eyebrows tented in urgency. Her talons stop short of grasping for your front hoof, and pull back gently. "...Thanks. Thank you." She pauses, her breaths a bit curtailed and short. "Okay? I don't..." She furrows her brow, seeming like... like she's trying to get something out she can't quite parse into words. This has been intriguing, and she doesn't want it to flit away like a chance encounter. "Will you come back? I mean, I'm gonna probably be here a while."
"Come back? Of course! I live in this town, after all, and the ones who live here have grown dear to me," Bardigan says with a broad smile. "Intriguing and poetic as it may be if I was some ghostly ship that passes ponies in the night, I will return... still a big believer in little sand grain griffons."
Well, you can tell Gilda is touched. She's obviously only a -little- bit 'here', in the moment - her eyes and her slightly opened beak betray that she's more properly in her mind, in this feeling she's gotten, in the spaces between the letters in the questions sprouting out of her consciousness from this encounter with you. "...Thanks, again. I'll be here." She says, her words promising more than they outwardly say.
Bardigan's wing stretches out just a little more, actually holding on to Gilda rather than merely touching. "I look forward to it," he says earnestly, and then, with a tip of his hat, he slips back out the door with nary a creak of hooves on wood.
