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UNTITLED (Gilda), by Unknown

By SlavePonyGeneral
Created: 2021-01-12 16:39:24
Expiry: Never

anon gilda safe /spg/oneshot

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[Copied from https://pastebin.com/8dd8wNyD]
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"So..."
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> You close the fence and squat down, moving to unclip the collar around the trembling pony's neck.
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"First lesson, I suppose. You can't escape."
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> Taking a seat on the chilly ground beneath her, you let the leash loop around one hand.
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"I mean - you can go ahead and run. I'm still going to have to stand up, and that earth-pony body will let you far outlast me. But, you won't get away."
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> Light blue eyes peer up at you, fearful but guarded.
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"You'll probably not even hit the edge of the field before my security system gets you. So - look, for your own safety, don't try it? Please?"
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> She will try it, though.
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> All the signs are there.
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> Her head is swiveling, noting the lack of any barrier greater than a few low-set wooden rails.
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> No cameras, fields, or fences that would keep anything remotely intelligent in.
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> One leg rises to tug at the halter still fixed around her muzzle - a sign of how much she chafes at the imprisonment.
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"Second lesson - work with me, and I'll make your life a lot less miserable. Here's how it works: You put in your time on the fields, you earn scrip from me."
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> "Yes, master."
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> She's taken great pains to soften her voice, but nothing can hide the bitter edge to it.
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"Take that scrip, you buy increased rations, time off, and some special orders from me."
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> Ticking off thoughts on your fingers, you move to the third:
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"Outside of your shift on the field, you're free to roam the property. Put in extra time for more scrip, relax, sleep, I don't care."
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> Motioning around to the simple fence, you add:
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"Just stay in your limits - obey curfew, don't leave the property or the security system will get you, and there are a couple other off-limits areas one of the others will sh-"
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> Any further statements are cut off as you go tumbling, her rear-hooves having slammed into your chest at the exact second you looked away.
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> Smart girl - but not so smart as to listen to you.
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> By the time you've gathered yourself and are upright again she's already halfway across the fields; a few of the workers there pause to look up at her go, but none move to aid or accompany her.
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> A few even call out desperate cries to stop.
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> They know.
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> Rising to your feet, you set off at a comfortable walking pace.
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> No need to rush yourself.
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> The mare's been reduced to little more than a cream-colored spot in the distance when a brown-and-white blur slams into her.
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> Two forms go tumbling through the fields in a wild ball of hooves, claws, wings, and snapping jaws.
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> A cry echoes across the fields; several ponies visibly wince.
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> In the end, though, they go still - two brown wings standing upright as a beacon to draw you in.
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> She's crying when you do approach, the desperate cry of one fearing for their life.
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> "Get it off me! I'm sorry - please, get it off! I won't try again!"
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> Even so, you let her feel the pressure of razor-sharp talons on her throat a moment longer before speaking.
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"That's enough. Let her go."
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> Rising, the mare flinches back as she meets the piercing, golden eyes that had tracked her down.
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> Pausing to lightly pat the griffon on the head, you shoot her a grin.
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"Like I said - security system."
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> A soft quork followed, by a soft beak-click issues from your enforcer, and you chuckle.
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"Yes, she did run well. I'm sure she'll be a good worker, once she gets herself in line."
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> Click, click, and a little trilling warble.
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"No, there's no need to punish her. Everyone tries to do that once."
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> "What's - what's wrong with her voice? What did you do to her?"
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> In response to the mare's question, your griffon opens her jaws - and the mare shrieks.
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> "Her tongue! Dear Celestia, her tongue!"
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"Best I can tell, she ate a load of shrapnel back in the fighting. Tore up her voicebox real bad among other things, and they had to just take her tongue straight out."
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> Stroking the coarse fur coating the griffon's back, you let a cold grin touch your lips.
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"Doesn't stop her talons or beak, though, and she's a bit grumpy about being a slave too. Still likes hunting, though, don't cross my rules or she won't be so gentle next time."
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-------
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> You're tucking away the last of dinner when Gilda appears, sailing in through an open window to touch down with the soft click-click of claws on tile.
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"Hey. You get them all tucked away for the night?"
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> An affirmative little quork is your answer.
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"Good. Even the new mare?"
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> A repeat of the same noise, soon followed by the noises of dinner being hastily scarfed down.
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"Okay. Keep an eye on her - for someone with candy on their but, she's got a bit of bite to her. Might be a while before she calms down and fits in."
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> Click, quork, and an annoyed-sounding warble.
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"...yeah, I know. I don't like having you play the bad guy either, but it really does help."
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> Instead of any audible answer, a head forces its way into your lap - great, liquid golden eyes peering up at you.
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> Sighing gently, you reach down to scratch at the downy covering layered over the back of her neck.
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> Eyes soon begin to fall half shut, and Gilda issues a contented little noise as she rests there.
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"Yeah, it's rough being alone, Gilda. I know you hate being just 'the security', but - really, it's better. Fear keeps them in line more than any whip, cattle prod, or any other cruelty would."
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> A chirp, and breath roughly hissed through her beak.
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"Displays like that teach them, Gilda. You know that as much as I do; it's not like I'm asking you to do them all the time."
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> Chirp, warble, chirp.
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> Sighing softly, you nod.
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"Alright. Maybe. One or two of the better behaving ones, you could let your hair down around. But if this causes problems, it's on your head."
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> That's a lie and you both know it.
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> You'd never be able to bring yourself to use a whip on Gilda.
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> She trusts you too much.
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> Instead of pressing further, though, she lets her eyes fall the rest of the way shut under the influence of your gentle rubbing.
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> The sound that soon issues from her throat is rough, ragged, and burbling in a way it should never be.
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> Even so however, as your fingers continue to work away at the muscles lacing her neck there's no mistaking what the noise is.
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> Leaning back, you smile at the contentedly purring griffon in your lap.