Birds of a Feather

[Gerrard]

"Beakbreak City, I don't know what is worse, the name of this city or it's location. Who builds a city on the edge of a desert, smack dab between two mountain ranges. I could only imagine trying to walk to this infernal town," Gerrard growled as he landed on the outskirts of the strangely named border town. Tartarus itself was a few miles away, the griffon guessing that it couldn't be much worse there as the sun shined down on his black pelt like a laser. In fact, everything about the griffon happened to be black, from his tail to his beak, the only exception being his silver head plumage and his keen yellow eyes. What luck, he was wearing all black on one of the hottest days of the year.

He was here to investigate reports that the town was having water shortages. And as usual, the flying architect was assigned to get over to the town quickly, his associates in Canterlot probably giggling at his misfortune of being stuck with such an awful job. Regardless, he went to the Royal University of Canterlot to be trained in ways to deal with irrigation, the griffon well qualified to deal with a mere water shortage. In just a few mere moments of searching, he stumbled upon a literal oasis on the outskirts of the city. "There isn't any natural water for miles here. The only way anything could grow here would be if..." the griffon explained aloud to himself, his voice sounding exceptionally as he came to a realization.

"Unless the system was leaking water," he added, the griffon spotting a bolt missing on the main irrigation pipe for the town, a thick stream of water continuously pouring out of the system. Bushes were practically sprouting out of the expensive mistake, the griffon in awe of how simple and wasteful this problem was. "Wow, one bolt missing and they literally waste thousands of units of water," he growled, getting called across Equestria to fix a simple bolt. He slipped a black talon into the large brown bag he was carrying and pulled out a bolt and his trusty crescent wrench. The large tool gleamed brillaintly in the sun as it proudly showed off it's master craftmanship to the griffon, the spanner bouncing the bright sunlight right back into his face as he screwed the bolt in. And just like that, the problem was solved, an obnoxiously long flight over a giant lake and the Everfree Forest the only things Gerrard wanting to remember about the whole trip. He slipped his special wrench into his bag and tried to collect his thoughts, the griffon trying not to think of ways to get back at his associates.

"I've got to salvage this trip somehow. Maybe there is something redeeming about this town?" he commented with a sigh, Gerrard looking back towards town. His keen eyes spotted a few buildings of questionable craftsmanship, clearly created with inferior wood, not that there were any trees for what felt like a hundred miles anyway. His thoughts would soon be realized as he saw the silhouette on a large figure approaching his general direction, the stranger holding something.

[Bellosh]

[colour=#008000]“I’ll tell ya what,”[/colour] grumbled Falco Kestrelson to himself; [colour=#008000]“This heat wave’s one of the worst I’ve seen ‘round these parts... nothin' I can't handle though...”[/colour] For several days now, the frontier settlement of Beakbreak City had experienced sky-high temperatures the likes of which hadn’t been seen for a century. Given the fact that Beakbreak was already a naturally arid place, that was saying a lot. Making things worse, the town now suffered through water shortages just at the time that demand for water was highest. For most inhabitants, they had no choice but to limit their outdoor activities to remain cool.

Falco was not one to coop himself indoors, however. Hardly anything phased the well-traveled griffon, used to trekking through Equestria’s harshest environments as a hobby. A sometimes dangerous hobby to be sure, but Falco always made it back to tell the tale. As far as the ex-sergeant was concerned, this heat wave was nothing. Just as long as he kept his flask filled with Stalliongradian cider at all times, Falco believed he would have nothing to fear from thirst.

Disregarding his brother’s warnings that he could get hit by a heat stroke, Falco thus spread out his mighty wings and set out from his beloved Gems & Trinkets Pawn Shop with his trusty crossbow in his claws. This piece of sleek wooden hardware, featuring a scope, was custom-designed for super-accurate target shooting. Mr. Kestrelson’s crossbow has helped him through many competitions in the past, and would continue to do so as long as he constantly practiced with it… even in the middle of an extreme dry spell. Even with the sun bearing down on his back, nothing would dissuade the Falco from his choice in outdoor recreational activity.

Soaring towards the town’s outskirts where he normally practiced with his crossbow, Falco spotted a dark figure heading towards Beakbreak. Maneuvering closer for a better look, Falco saw that the figure was a black-and-white griffon with a tool bag strapped on him. Being the sociable and jesting griffon that he was, Falco flew towards the stranger and greeted;[colour=#008000] “Ha ha ha! Whatcha doing out here outside of Beakbreak City? Why with those black feathers, I’d think it’d suck to be you right now, being all toasty and everything!”[/colour]

[Gerrard]

Gerrard paused and shielded his eyes from the sun with a black talon as his keen yellow eyes glanced up at the figure, the griffon raising his brow in a sense of disbelief. "Ponies don't have nearly that wingspan. What are the odds of running into another griffon in Beakbreak city," he thought to himself as the stranger came into clearer view. The stranger was a griffon, a normal coloured one at that, his green eyes standing out as the only peculiar thing about him. "Well, I was told by my bosses in Canterlot that I needed to make sure all the ponies over here were properly watered. Wouldn't want them to dry out and wilt, you know, gardening and all that nonsense," Gerrard explained in an overly casual manner, chuckling lightly as he used the standard griffon explanation of his pony related job.

"Apparently though, I found one of those strange ponies with claws and a beak though, how rare!" he added with a laugh, poking a bit of fun at their shared species as he walked up to the somewhat older griffon. Gerrard was an adult as Falco could tell, but it was also obvious that he had spent a lot of time among ponies, his feathers well groomed and his black coat well kept. As Falco mentioned that he must be hot in his dark tinted body, Gerrard smirked devilishly as he stood next to his green eyed counterpart. "Alas, I wasn't planning for hot weather when I went about designing the most handsome body that bits could buy. Normally the mountains of merry mares shield me from the sun, apparently they haven't picked up my scent yet," he explained, showing off his black coat and wings and an equally black talon that almost begged the question if he was part crow or something.

"I must ask though, how does it feel having your picture plastered in every dictionary cataloging our species? Did you tell them your eyes are green, not yellow?" he jokingly remarked, asserting that his new acquaintance looked astoundingly normal. His keen golden eyes couldn't help but be drawn to the crossbow. "You do know that it is illegal to hunt ponies, or any other sentient creatures in Equestria right? Wouldn't want to incite the ponies of Beakbreak City. At least I might learn why it is called such at least," he mused aloud, Gerrard carefully rubbing his longer black beak as he stood beside Falco. "You do know that, right?" he teased, wholly expecting some snarky retort, Gerrard well know for his own. When you were a griffon who worked at the order of Ponies, you learned such defense mechanisms very well.

[Bellosh]

Falco was always glad to meet up with a member of his own kind, especially if they were the jesting type like the griffon in front of him. From what it sounded like, the stranger’s job had to do with working on Equestria’s irrigation systems. Maybe the griffon was sent to do something about Beakbreak’s water shortages? So of course, the irrigation worker quipped about ponykind’s general love of gardening… a pastime which isn’t very easy in get into when loved lived on the Roughrider Ridge.

The older ex-sergeant laughed again when the worker joked about how griffons were essentially ponies with claws and beaks. However, the black-coloured griffon next started to boast about his ability to attract mares. Falco may have loved to brag about his exploits as much as the next griffon, but he also understood that there was a certain art to bragging. Namely, that one should at least sound credible, make fun of themselves once in a while, and to let others participate in the conversation rather than hogging the entire spotlight. Something started to smell fishy about the irrigation worker thought Falco, so all the shopkeeper could manage was a nervous chuckle.

It was the younger griffon’s final quips that finally convinced Mr. Kestrelson that something was really off. It wasn’t that Falco didn’t like to be teased, but he also liked to engage in normal banter-free chats too. This stranger on the other hand seemed to be trying way too hard to be funny, like he was overcompensating for something. Falco didn’t think that every single thing out of somebody’s mouth had to be an amusing joke or a witty comeback.

Maintaining a dead-pan expression, Falco finally spoke once it seemed like the aspiring comedian finished his stand-up routine. [colour=#008000]“I don’t really know or care why ponies call this place Beakbreak,”[/colour] Mr. Kestrelson coolly explained; [colour=#008000]“So I take it you’re our new plumber then? Have you’ve figured out yet why we haven't been gettin' our water ‘round here?”[/colour]

[Gerrard]

Falco was onto him, his expression of disbelief could see through his hyperbole and Gerrard knew it as well. He hoped his new acquaintance would let him slide by with his assertions because he clearly couldn't keep passing them off as truth. He didn't call him out, the younger griffon seeming to dodge a bullet as he told himself to stop laying it on thick with strangers. Of course, if anyone could hear Gerrard promise himself that, they could measure how long he could last in minutes.

When Falco expressed that he didn't care why the city was called Beakbreak, Gerrard knew his ruse was over, the black griffon forced to raise his brow in alarm. When the ex-sergeant dropped the P-bomb on Gerrard though, he couldn't help but visibly cringe. One chink in his armor was clearly visible, the over compensating griffon chuckling weakly as his proud eyes weakly glanced down at the ground. "Uhh, I'm not a plumber," he remarked simply, the griffon trying his best to look him in the eyes as he spoke. Plumbers go into the homes of ponies and fix their pipe systems. I go across Equestria and fix their pipe system-" he remarked accidentally describing himself as a one before correcting himself. "I also help design and lay them out, plumbers don't do that at all. I even have a certificate to prove it!" the griffon explained long windedly, trying to make himself sound extra important. He quickly fished out his certificate from the university to prove his assertion, the black hybrid showing it to Falco.

While the document was clearly legitimate, it was also true that it was worn and tattered, clearly damaged from being presented to many people. Gerrard was not as infallible as he let on, the griffon on his heels after one comment regardless of what his weak smile declared. He folded his arms as he sat on his haunches, his long tail not wagging at all as he searched for the words to salvage the situation. It suddenly struck him, he had an easy way to change the subject. "So uh, Mr... I don't think that we have introduced us to each other yet. I am Gerrard Grayfeather... uh as my diploma stated. And you are named what fair crossbow griffon?" he asked his voice sounding as if he we unsure of what to call Falco. He just needed a good time to lay it on thick with Falco.

"Oh and yes I figured out what was wrong with your water, yup, took me about... three minutes," Gerrard replied vaguely to Falco, not stating what exactly was wrong to begin with. Gerrard nodded to himself a bit as he spoke to Falco. "Yeah, three minutes was a good pick for time, very modest!" he thought to himself in his head, the hybrid slowly starting to forget his previous promise to himself.

[Bellosh]

This worker sure was defensive about his line of work, contemplated Falco. Even though the pawn shop owner no longer displayed his normally cheerful persona, he couldn’t resist chuckling when the other griffon accidently used the same words he used to describe a plumbing job for his own… which made him a plumber, right? Mr. Kestrelson didn’t think there was any shame in being a plumber, or any other job for that matter, just as one found the time to explore the world around theme every now and then.

Still Falco tapped his rear paw in impatience as the stranger searched through his bag for some sort of certificate. The elder griffon had better things to do than roasting in the desert sun talking to a self-important plumber… like roasting in the desert sun while shooting at empty cans and sc[colour=#333333]r[/colour]ap airship parts. Some seconds passed, and the other griffon finally procured a torn-up plumbing certificate. Falco wondered why someone would even lug around their credentials at all times; the ex-sergeant himself never worried that his customers would question his service in the Aquellian military without seeing his letter of honorable discharge.

At last the stranger finally introduced himself as Gerrard Grayfeather, although of course he couldn’t even do this without making a witticism. [colour=#008000]“Falco Kestrelson,”[/colour] the elder griffon replied matter-of-factly, reasoning that he had no good reason to withhold his own name. After Falco introduced himself, Gerrard vaguely implied that he had easily fixed the issue with the irrigation system. Gerrard’s assertions sounded very iffy for Mr. Kestrelson, but he didn’t feel like hanging around to interrogate the black hybrid further.

[colour=#008000]“Well just as long as you’ve fixed the problem, you’re a good plumber in my book,”[/colour] declared Falco. [colour=#008000]“Now if you excuse me Mr. Grayfeather, I got myself a date with the local scr[/colour][colour=#006600]a[/colour][colour=#008000]pyard. Catch ya’ later… unless you feel like watchin’ me shoot at junk, heh heh.”[/colour] With that, Falco got off his rear paws and took to the skies again, not expecting that Gerrard would be all that interested in coming along.

[Gerrard]

Gerrard listened carefully to Falco as he introduced himself, the former sergeant seeming to be a bit more interesting than he let on. He mused for a moment, stroking his long black beak as he tried to put a face on the name, Kestrelson. It didn't sound like a very common griffon name, not that Gerrard actually knew many griffons. "I really know more about ponies than griffons, I could name all the Mayors in Equestria and I can't name a single one in Aquellia," he sighed, in an almost embarrassed manner as he tried to keep his keen eyes focused on Falco.

When the lighter hybrid stated that he was going to go shooting, Gerrard couldn't help but raise his brow. He took off after the pawn shop owner, glad that he wasn't flying too fast. "Wait, what sort of junkyard is it? They normally avoid making them in the heartland, some stuff about it being bad for the environment, tree-hugger stuff," he Gerrard remarked, showing a bit of Griffon pride as he flapped his wings alongside Falco. "Better to make a spot where people can scavenge for old junk than just bury it out of sight. You know what I mean?" he added, looking over to his older associate for his opinion on the matter.

"I wouldn't mind watching an expert take a few shots with a crossbow between junk piles. Assuming that is okay with you?" he added, his long black tail wagging lightly. His mother was in the military when he grew up, but was rarely around home. Gerrard never bothered to press her for information like his siblings, the black hybrid having other interests. In fact, he didn't know much about any modern weapons, Gerrard only seeing pictures and reading about them in the odd book he came across. He was probably too proud to admit it though, the griffon hating to be shown up in anything, even things he had no idea how to do.

[Bellosh]

Seeing that Gerrard had taken off after him, Falco Kestrelson slowed his flight speed to let the darker griffon catch up. Gerrard might have acted a bit more pompous than the average griffon, but it took much more than that to really annoy the shopkeeper. Thus Falco was very willing to give the plumber another chance; maybe Gerry would actually end up fun to be around if he dropped his act and chilled out. By the sounds of it, Gerry traveled all over Equestria fixing up everypony’s pipes, and that meant he’d possibly have a lot of stories to tell.

Gerrard barely knew much about Beakbreak City apparently, so Falco filled him in on the details; [colour=#008000]“Well as you can see, this city here is out in the middle of nowhere where trees can’t be found for miles in any direction. And since airships stop over here on the way between Talonpolis and Stalliongrad, well the folks here figured “heck, why not sc[/colour][colour=#336600]r[/colour][colour=#008000]ap old airships here too”? Since nopony ever comes here for the scenery anyway, heh heh, why bother taking the effort to bury everything in the ground?”[/colour]

Back in a jolly mood, Falco didn’t mind Gerrard’s offer to watch him shoot targets in the junkyard. The chuckling Mr. Kestrelson always appreciated an audience anytime and anywhere; [colour=#008000]“You’ve got that right, Gerry! You’re looking at the best crossbow shooter this side of the border. Why, I’ve been shootin’ bolts since I was just a private in the Aquellian Marine Corps!”[/colour]

[Gerrard]

Gerrard glanced down on the desolate landscape beneath them, the griffon thinking over his youth spent playing in the badlands north of the griffon capital of Talonoplis. He was always told that it was dangerous, but he was a griffon, and it was his job to show all the scary monsters who was in charge. Normally it meant getting beat up by some wild animals, but those animals never messed with him again (probably because they couldn't find him again)! Those were stories for other days, but perhaps he could dig one out some day and... 'touch it up' for some of his fans. "I suppose so this would be a good place to make such a yard. You could always pester some pegasi to give you some water, they do like to manipulate weather for their own needs, why not yours?" the hybrid commenting about the situation, his voice showing some faint disdain for pegasi and their control of the weather.

He spotted the airship graveyard beneath him, the wreckages intriguing him somewhat. "So, are there things down there aside from the ships?" the irrigation worker asking in a curious manner, interested if there were any treasures hidden in the sand. There weren't many opportunities in Equestria to really scavenge for loot, one of his favorite pass times back in Aquellia. "I remember how excited I was when I found a crossbow out in the badlands when I was just a young kid. When I brought it home, I got punished for pointing the loaded weapon at one of my brothers. Who would have thought it had ammunition in it? Wait, don't answer that, it was rhetorical," he explained with a laugh, the griffon poking fun at himself, hinting that he probably didn't think things through much as a child.

The black griffon put a talon up to his beak as he mused over the incident. "I never did fire it, or any crossbow for that matter. I think it was a standard issue crossbow, a bit different from your own. Yours isn't the standard issue is it? It looks to be a bit higher quality than the spartan ones issued to all the standard recruits, right? Perhaps it has something to do with the crossbow, or you having talons," he jokingly asserted, Gerrard having no idea what made shooting so hard. "You gotta admit you have a bit of an edge of the ponies on this side of the border, right?" he added playfully, as he wondered where Falco wanted to go practice shooting.

[Bellosh]

Falco Kestrelson shrugged off Gerrard’s scornful comments about the weather-controlling pegasi. The elder griffon didn’t really mind that griffons couldn’t control aerial phenomenon like pegasi could; it was just a fact of life. For that matter, the part-time adventurer always preferred locales that weren’t climate-controlled anyway.

Spotting the junkyard below, Falco commenced his decent towards the surface. [colour=#008000]“You’d be quite surprised at what you’d find down there Gerry,”[/colour] Falco started explaining to the curious griffon; [colour=#008000]“I used to work at the junkyard, dissembling all the ole’ airships that got sent here to Beakbreak. It turns out that them ships don’t get cleaned too well beforehand; when I discovered I was making more bits selling off all the abandoned gems and misplaced items than I was actually scra[/colour][colour=#006600]p[/colour][colour=#008000]ping those big metal birds, I quit my job and set up my pawn shop back in town.”[/colour]

As the two got closer to Falco’s ad-hoc practice area, Gerrard related a story of how he as a child scared his mother one day when he brought home a loaded crossbow. Now this was more like it; [colour=#008000]“I hope your ma’ also told you to never spill your drink on the bolt channel. That’s the most importing rule of crossbow shooting, if you must know. Just wonderin’, but you have gone crossbow shootin’ before, right?”[/colour]

The black griffon explained he hadn’t fired a crossbow, which Falco thought was a shame. However, Gerry knew enough to observe that the ex-sergeant’s device was not standard issue; always a good start. [colour=#008000]“You’ve got good eyes Gerry, even for a griffon,”[/colour] Falco jokingly remarked; [colour=#008000]“The crossbows we used back in the Corps were repeaters; instead of a scope, they have magazines which held multiple bolts. You don’t have to manually reload the weapon every time you shoot with them… but they sure ain’t very accurate compared to the custom-made crossbow I use these days.”[/colour]

At last, Falco spotted a large table amongst all the metal debris littered with row upon row of empty glass bottles, which signaled his own private shooting gallery. Landing a modest distance away from the table, the griffon responded to Gerrard’s latest quip with mock offense; [colour=#008000]“Of course I’ve got an edge on the ponies! Their hooves are too big to squeeze the trigger!”[/colour] Laughing at his own joke, Falco couldn’t resist a good-hearted dig at ponykind. They’re good with magic and weather things, but there will always be certain things that are best done with a griffon’s talons.

On the spur of the moment, Falco asked Gerrard; [colour=#008000]"Say Gerry, you don't wanna try shooting those bottles over there, do you?"[/colour]

[Gerrard]

Gerrard's experiences were never truly made in jealousy of pegasus, the griffon much more pleased with the abilities of his own species regardless. He would much rather have dextrous talons and a sharp beak than be able to control weather. That didn't mean that he approved of pegasus manipulating the weather to bring harm or discomfort on others. Of course a part of him didn't like that weather control sometimes marginalized his work, ponies having a great ability to regulate the amount of waters their cities received.

The black griffon carefully descended into the junkyard beside his older friend, the irrigation specialist listening in anticipation of a glorious story. Gerrard nodded, hearing tales of great treasure recovery, his expression changing into a frown slightly as Falco claimed to have made quite a bit of money finding hidden treasure. After thinking it over a bit, Gerrard grinned and chuckled a bit, deciding to be more upbeat. "So you took all the good stuff for yourself? I just gotta find things that you don't know the value of. Just tell me what you don't know," he playfully teased, lightly jabbing Falco with a balled talon before he gave a lesson on crossbows.

"Bolt channel, drink?" Gerrard thought in silence, the griffon knowing enough to guess what the channel was, his actual experience with what hindered the weapon non-existent though as he walked around a few pieces of s**** that jutted from the dirt beneath them. "Yeah, don't want to get the channel sticky and mess up the release mechanism?" he commented in a halfhearted manner, not really having any idea what he was talking about. Regardless, it seemed to make enough sense in his head that he just rolled with it, the black hybrid willing to amend his statement if Falco disagrees with him.

Gerrard raised his brow at the mention of repeating crossbows, the hybrid having no idea at all that the Aquellian military actually used them. Then again though, he wasn't exactly versed in what that crossbow was other, just hearing the explanation and rolling with it. He really felt like a pony talking to a griffon at times, not that he would ever admit something like that, his pride as griffon never allowing it. "Well, I guess you don't really need to be accurate when you have five griffons launch fifty bolts at a target," he mused, stroking his beak as he thought over the advantages of a custom crossbow. "I guess going with accuracy over quantity makes for a better representation of skill. Not to mention that you don't need to carry around nearly as many bolts. If I remember right, bolts are considerably more bulky than arrows too," he reasoned aloud about small bits of minutia. The weight would be noticeable of course, but proud griffons would never complain about it, or at least he thought in his head anyway.

As they finally marched into the shooting range, Gerrard looked the area over with his keen eyes. He could see a table and the targets, glass bottles in this case. Falco went on about his deft talons, both griffons agreeing that they were quite useful tools. "These are why I am out here after all. Only unicorns can safely use my tools, and they can't fly. "I'm the only one in Canterlot who can travel across Equestria in a day and work on location. They know that, and here I am," he explained proudly, the dark hybrid revelling in his sharp black talons, very pleased with himself.

His trance was broken though when Falco asked if wanted to shooting a bottle off the table. He blinked a bit in disbelief, the younger hybrid amazed that he would trust him with his sacred crossbow. "Oh, yeah. I could shoot it once or twice. Probably could clear the table of bottles in one or two shots. Just think of it like bowling," Gerrard explained with a chuckle, trying not to sound too excited about it in front of his friend. He literally had no idea what to do, but with such an exceptional crossbow, he figured it would do all the work for him regardless.

[Bellosh]

[colour=#008000]“Lucky for you Gerry, I’ve stopped digging through this trash pile years ago,”[/colour] Falco Kestrelson jested; [colour=#008000]“It’s all yours now, if you’re into that sort of thing.”[/colour] The elder gtiffon gave an affirmative nod when Gerrard correctly guessed what a bolt channel was; for someone who didn’t know much about crossbows, the black hybrid at least had the ability to figure out things quick. That was always a valuable trait to have out on the Roughrider Ridge. Mr. Kestrelson nodded once more as Gerry mused over the advantages Falco’s crossbow had over other less-accurate models.

As Gerrard touched down behind Falco, he boasted of his unique attributes that made him a valuable asset to the ponies over in Canterlot. Unlike the plumber’s earlier bragging, this had actually sounded plausible and genuine. Obviously, it helped that Gerry ditched his comedian persona a while back… or so Falco prematurely thought. Accepting the ex-sergeant’s crossbow challenge, Gerry’s newest claim that he could shoot all the bottles on the table with just one or two bolts was so utterly ludicrous that Mr. Kestrelson broke down into hysterics.

[colour=#008000]“You’re kiddin’ me, right?”[/colour] Falco bemusedly questioned as he handed over his crossbow and bolt quiver to Gerrard; [colour=#008000]“My my Gerry, shooting off bolts is hardly that easy at all! You’ve gotta keep your crossbow from shakin’, and you’ve gotta account for humidity and wind direction too. Oh yeah, you gotta know how to load the bolts too… heh heh heh, you know how, do ya?"[/colour]

[Gerrard]

Gerrard grinned devilishly as Falco claimed to have stop searching through the trash. The black griffon tried to be an optimist, even if it made him seem outlandish, the hybrid rubbing his talons together in anticipation. "Luck is a very great skill to have and I cultivate it well. My keen eyes can spot the unnoticeable and pry it from the doldrums of despair," he cheered in an upbeat manner. When Falco asserted that Gerrard liked to dig through trash, the younger bird shook his head while chuckling, placing a claw on the shoulder of his friend. "While griffons may not be related to vultures, we are wise enough to know that scavenging can be very profitable," he explained in an upbeat manner, not taking any noticeable offense to his friend's playful insult.

The black hybrid loved to make completely baseless claims on the off chance he might be correct and come off as omniscient. He really didn't expect to destroy all the glasses so easily, but it would be quite the sight if he did by accident. "Oh Falco, you have so little faith. While you may be able to make great shots, you lack the schooling required to apply advanced geometry to your craft. If you hit the bottle at just the right angle, you can shatter the glass and spray the nearby bottles with shards, shattering them as well. It isn't actually that hard, just watch an expert handle it," he explained with a smile, knowing perfectly well that even in theory, such a feat was probably impossible. These were glasses, not bowling pins after all.

Gerrard picked up the bow and it's bolts, looking them over as he theorized how to load them. "A crossbow is just a bow that has the pull locked back by a mechanism, I just need to pull the string and lock it into place and all the hard work is done," he thought in his mind, the youngster trying to pull the string back with one talon while holding the crossbow in his other. The string didn't even budge, essentially feeling like a metal rod. Gerrard let out a faint sigh, knowing he had bit off more than he could ever hope to chew. "Quite the crossbow here, I was expecting you to use a lighter gauge Falco," he replied, trying to cover up his inexperience by asserting the sergeant used a child's crossbow. He then pressed the bow against his chest and tried to pull it back with both of his talons, his face visibly straining as the cord almost reached the proper latch. He released it again, gasping lightly and grumbling to himself. Gerrard may not have been an exceptionally strong griffon, but this was a pain in the claw. "I just need more leverage, that is all," he thought in his head, placing the crossbow on the ground beneath his paws as he pulled the string directly up with all of his might. He finally latched it into place, readying the fire mechanism. The whole scene was quite the spectacle, but it was probably to be expected from Gerrard.

"See, not that hard Falco! Just stand back, this will be quite the spectacle," he cheered to his friend, trying to hide his heavy breathing as he pulled a bolt out and placed it into the channel. The tired youngster haphazardly removed his talon from the bolt, Gerrard not noticing that he had sliced the bolt with his claw. He gave it one last verification before holding the crossbow with both of his talons, the dark hybrid having the most awful hunch imaginable in his form as he tried look down the sights. He looked through the scope, feeling as if he was reading a foreign language, numbers and lines fulling the glass tube as he tried to aim with his shaky claws. The griffon clearly had no formal training, his body drifting lightly as he failed to brace himself in any meaningful manner.

He had no idea what the scope was telling him, and simply decided to put the most central mark on the scope atop his target at the edge of the table. He tried to hold the crossbow as steady as he could manage, the irrigation worker pulling the trigger in the least fluid manner imagineable. "Twang!" the crossbow squealed as the force of the bow threw his unprepared body to the dirt. It fired awkwardly, the mechanism attempting to launch the bolt, which promptly discharged, most of it anyway. The griffon didn't bother to adapt at all for the light breeze, not to mention the poor flying of the bolt he damaged. And as quickly as he had fired, the event was over with a loud crunch, none of the glasses looking remotely injured at first glance. Gerrard completely missed all of them, instead the hybrid shooting clear through the leg of the rickety table as he snapped one clear off. With it's foundation destroyed, the table lurched over and crashed into the ground, taking all the glasses with it as they shattered into a heap of broken glass.

Gerrard's eyes widened, the Canterlot native messing up his shot in the most awful of manners. "And, there ya go. One shot, and I broke all of glasses. Didn't even need a second shot," he tried to claim victory after making the worst shot ever attempted. He had succeeded in fulfilling his claim by failing at a new level. Gerrard wasn't proud of himself, but he didn't want to admit defeat.

[Bellosh]

Falco Kestrelson for a brief moment questioned the logic of letting an obviously-unskilled griffon like Gerrard handle his crossbow. Such thoughts vanished upon seeing the plumber fumble around attempting to load the wooden device. So what if Gerry managed to break Falco’s expensive crossbow? The price of a replacement crossbow was insignificant compared to the hilarity value of what Falco witnessed right in front of him.

Gerrard most certainly didn’t disappoint at all. After he just barely managed to load one bolt, the plumber tried to live up to his boasting by firing the crossbow. The resulting masterpiece of schadenfreude was more than Mr. Kestrelson could bear. As expected, Gerry didn’t take recoil into account as the bolt missed its intended mark by a long shot. Needless to say, the plumber actually managed to live up to his bragging; just not in the way he intended.

All of this was enough for Falco to break out in a wave of uncontrollable laughter. Holding his stomach in place for a good thirty-seconds, the pawn shop owner barely controlled his hysterics long enough to take the crossbow and quiver out of Gerrard’s claws. Fifteen seconds after taking his belongings back, Mr. Kestrelson finally succeeded in getting a grip on his chuckling. [colour=#008000]“MAN, oh man! Just wait til I… ah hah hah hah… tell everyone ‘bout ya, Gerry! You’re an absolute blast, ya know that? Hah hah hah… congrats pal; I’ll never doubt you ever again..... bwah hah hah hah hah hah!!!!!”[/colour]

[Gerrard]

Gerrard blinked a bit while on his back and climbed up to his feet, the griffon dusting himself with a talon as he rested on his hind paws. He searched his thoughts for a moment as he decided on the words to hype his performance. "Imagine if I had actually bothered to brace for the recoil. Or had formal training, or experience. But I probably can cancel that out with some sheer talent and a killer instinct!" Gerrard explained with a hearty laugh, always seeming rather proud of his talents, even when he probably made a mistake.

He handed the crossbow over to Falco, his eyes drifting over to the wreckage only a few yards away. "Just tell them that I only give autographs to my friends, feel free to ask me for one if you feel inspired," he added with a smile, the black griffon being sneaky about calling the sergeant his friend. He wandered over to the closest pile of junk, still relatively close to his friend as he began the tedious process of scavenging through piles of iron and steel. "How good of a shot are you?" he asked with traces of interest in his voice. He secretly wanted to see the expert work his craft, his keen eyes wanting to skim a few tricks from his friend, Gerrard not wanting to admit he wasn't as skilled as he claimed.

[Bellosh]

[colour=#008000]“Ha… a griffon can always dream!”[/colour] Leave it to Gerrard to try and save face, thought Falco; [colour=#008000]“Hmmm…. maybe I will get ya’ autograph when we head on back to town. I’ll hold onto it for a few years, and then sell it for lots of bits when you get super famous! Just… don’t let me down, heh heh…”[/colour] A jokester as always, Mr. Kestrelson didn’t actually think that the plumber’s autograph would ever be worth anything. For now though, the amused ex-sergeant would indulge Gerry’s fantasies.

Of course, then came the time where Gerrard challenged Falco to show off his own sharpshooting abilities. Falco always loved a good challenge… and he fortunately also had more targets around than just the bottles. Turning towards a group of six upright fruit drink cans nestled on a piece of junk, the pawn store owner smoothly fetched a bolt from his quiver and loaded it into his crossbow. [colour=#008000]“Time for you to watch and learn, Gerry,”[/colour] said Mr. Kestrelson as he looked in his sights at one of the cans about ten yards away.

His rear paws with a firm grim on the ground to deal with potential recoil, Falco waited for a few seconds. When he felt ready, the griffon fired his device… and saw his efforts rewards as the bolt struck the can and sent orange liquid flying everywhere from the newly-bored puncture. [colour=#008000]“Care for a drink?”[/colour] the grinning Falco one-lined.

[Gerrard]

Gerrard could tell that Falco was being sarcastic, but Gerrard wasn't being entirely serious himself. The black hybrid could tell that he was the brunt of the joke, his attempts at saving face clearly not working when Falco. "I'll do you one better. "It would only be fitting if I signed the very artifact that I achieved such greatness with. Perhaps I could carve my name into it, give it some real longevity and value," he retorted with the falsest of grins imaginable. Gerrard flashed a sharp black talon for Falco to see, the dark hybrid making an elaborate signing motion, griffons having more elaborate signatures than most ponies.

The black griffon took a careful seat on a pile of junk as he watched Falco set up his own shot. His keen eyes watched Falco's posture, his feet staggered in a stout manner to absorb the recoil. His shoulders seemed locked as well to hold his arms steady. While Gerrard had perceptive eyes, he had no idea what the sharpshooter was spotting with his scope, the dark hybrid watching Falco pull the trigger in one fluid motion, his claws holding the weapon steady as he fired a straight shot at the cans, piercing one cleanly. The dark hybrid was too busy examining Falco to notice the actual hit, Gerrard seeing the splash of orange liquid getting shot out the can on the periphery of his vision.

"You keep six cans of orange liquid out her to shoot with your crossbow? You should be drinking it, not wasting it. I know I would if I had some cans with me. But regardless, it seemed like an admirable shot. One bolt for one target seems like a passable ratio," he explained, poking a bit of fun at his friend for the shot, even though it was great. He was impressed that anyone could shoot a crossbow with such accuracy, not that the proud pipe worker would ever admit it. "I would love a drink, it is rather hot. But you left all these cans out in the heat didn't you? Hot juice drinks are among the worst things in the world, and trust me, I know poor displays," Gerrard explained with a wink, poking a bit of fun at himself as he leaned back and clapped his talons together in a short manner.

While Gerrard leaned back for his clapping, his hind legs accidentally pushed back on the ground, the dark hybrid accidentally disrupting the s**** pile he was sitting on, causing an avalanche of metal sheets and bolts to cascade upon him. Before he could react, the Canterlot native lost his balance and fell backwards, getting buried in a pile of metal junk that looked extremely heavy. "Unhand me!" he growled, struggling to break free before part of the pile slipped free and made a large clunking noise near where his head was.

[Bellosh]

[colour=#008000]“Heh, feel free to scratch your name into that table,”[/colour] Falco bantered back to Gerrard as he younger hybrid asked about the ruined piece of junkyard furniture; [colour=#008000]“Well… what’s left of that piece of junk anyway. Who knows; maybe one day, broken tables like yours might actually be worth more than intact ones, gah ha ha ha ha.”[/colour]

As Falco loaded his crossbow to take a shot at another can, Gerrard decided to question the wisdom of leaving fruit-juice cans out in the hot desert sun for target practice. Pffft, what sort of self-respecting Beakbreak citizen drinks fruit-juice?[colour=#008000] “I’ll tell ya what Gerry,”[/colour] Mr. Kestrelson replied as he aimed his device;[colour=#008000] “When we’re done here, I’m gonna’ take you over to the cantina back in town and buy ya’ some real drinks. Does that sound good?”[/colour] Squeezing his crossbow’s trigger, the elder griffon deviously smiled as another bolt found its mark, spraying even more orange-coloured liquid around the area.

Before Falco could load his crossbow again, his ears picked up the earsplitting sound of a junk-pile tumbling down. Turning towards the disturbance, the ex-sergeant couldn’t find Gerrard anywhere… but he saw bits of rubbish moving up and down in one spot. Surmising that Gerry had somehow been buried by garbage, the jokester shopkeeper bemusedly asked;[colour=#008000] “Hey now buckaroo, you need a hand getting out of there?”[/colour]

[Gerrard]

There was awkward silence that soon followed the avalanche, not a sound being heard from Gerrard as he lay beneath a heavy pile of metal refuse. The griffon could feel metal rods poking him in the back as he thought about how to escape, the situation being unnecessarily bothersome. He decided to wait for a minute to collect his thoughts and possibly get his friend a bit worried, the black hybrid checking the range of movement on his wrists, glad his sturdy frame didn't give out on him.

He grinned a bit, deciding to burst free as he thought about his escape. The architect took a deep breath and pooled his strength, struggling, in vain, to break himself free from his self imposed prison. "Perhaps I could use a bit of assistance Falco, it seems that an entire plane has crashed down upon me. I just need another pair of claws to uh... help me get proper leverage and use my strength, ya, something like that," he explained in an awkward voice, trying to convince himself that it wasn't a big deal.

"Yeah, a drink will be nice once I get out, yeah. I hope I don't have any oil stains on my... black coat," he replied, laughing a bit as he tried to change the subject of their conversation back towards drinking instead of his own mishap.

"I don't go out drinking much, whenever I go on business meetings with my friend, she always orders water anyway. Strange, I know," he added, waiting for some help to get out.

[Bellosh]

A few moments passed before Gerrard admitted he needed help in digging out of the pile of trash metal. Falco Kestrelson set aside his wooden device and started throwing sc[colour=#000000]r[/colour]ap pieces aside within the general area that the young griffon plumber was buried. While the ex-sergeant labored under the hot sun, Gerry started to fret over oil stains. [colour=#008000]“I’ll level with ya Gerry,”[/colour] Falco joked; [colour=#008000]“I thought your coat had already been oil stained when I first saw you, ha ha!”[/colour] That thought hadn’t actually occurred to Falco until now of course, but why let that get in the way of a precisely-timed witticism?

What Mr. Grayfeather said next however so utterly shocked the elder hybrid that he accidentally dropped a piece of discarded metal. [colour=#008000]“YOU ONLY DRINK WATER!?”[/colour] Falco shouted in disbelief; [colour=#008000]“Looks like we’ve got a real emergency on our hands!”[/colour] While indeed few things ever phased the griffon, learning that someone barely ever had real drinks was one such thing that could freak him out. [colour=#008000]“Hmmm…. I betcha you’ve been in the plumbing business for too long, dealing with nothing but water all day. Well, good ole’ Falco here will change all that. Today son, prepare to begin the first day of the rest of your life!”[/colour]

Now with renewed vigor, Falco worked even harder to dig out the rubble over Gerrard. That effort paid off, as it didn’t take long for the last pieces of junk covering the black griffon to be tossed aside. Thirsty from so much exertion, Falco took a swig of apple vodka from his flask as he waited to see if Gerry could get up on his own.....

[Gerrard]

"Haha, clever," the black griffon retorted as he felt the heavy load on his back slowly lighten to the point that he could start climbing out of his self imposed garbage prison. He quickly freed himself from the trap and stretched his body out, no worse for wear. He was proud of his dark coat, the griffon not letting the oil remark anger him as he looked to the normal coloured griffon. Gerrard shook himself off, the black hybrid raising his brow when Falco freaked out over his current statement.

The sergeant had heard him wrong, and Gerrard smirked, deciding to use it as light ammunition against him. "Your hearing must be going in old age my friend. I said Asteria only drinks water. I am up for drinking any beverage, within reason of course," he explained with a smirked. It was true that the irrigation expert may have drank more than his fair share of water at times, but he knew how to have a good time on occasion. "I've only been dealing with the water business for six years perhaps," he added, the griffon longing for a bit of water after being out in the heat for so long.

The heap of metal shook ever so slightly as Gerrard hopped off the pile and onto the ground, his keen eyes looking over to Falco as he stretched out his tired body, the beaked creature letting out a clearly audible yawn. "Sure I could use a drink, know any griffon friendly bars around here?" he added with a smirk as he pulled a small canteen out of his bag, the accident prone griffon taking a small drink of what little water he had left. "I'm ready to go when you are," he added with a smile, wondering what the strangely named town had to offer him.

[Bellosh]

[colour=#008000]“Whew,”[/colour] Falco Kestrelson sighed in relief as Gerrard corrected him on his drink preferences; [colour=#008000]“I guess there’s hope for ya yet.”[/colour] As the black griffon pulled himself up from the messy discarded clumps of airship wreckage, the shopkeeper collected his crossbow and proceeded to think of where to take Gerry next. [colour=#008000]“Hmmmmm.........”[/colour] pondered Mr. Kestrelson; [colour=#008000]“There’s always Rufflefeather Tavern; that’s the waterin’ hole for all them junkyard workers and airship crews. Great drinks, great atmosphere; you’d love it Gerry!”[/colour]

Taking to the skies once the plumber was ready to set off, Falco soared over the junkyard on his merry way to Rufflefeather Tavern. The elder griffon imagined that Gerry would fit it just fine; just as long as he didn’t cause any trouble, of course.....

[Gerrard]

Gerrard did one final check of his body for major cuts or bruises, his eyes unable to spot any while he listened to Falco speak. The dark hybrid chuckled lightly when the elder mentioned that there was still some hope left for clumsy griffon. "Yeah, perhaps I can be saved," the architect cheered playfully as he gathered himself. He didn't often get to drink at all the places he visited, the strictly business approach of his unicorn friend rubbing off on him somewhat as he spent a fair amount of time helping her.

"Rufflefeather Tavern? What a strange name for a tavern. I feel morally obligated to make a ruffling joke, but I will do my best to ignore that instinct," he added, winking in manner that suggested he hadn't completely decided against making such a terrible joke. He thought for a moment about who actually worked in this town, it was a long walk for anyone with wings. It might be a pain for a pegasus to unscrew and deconstruct ships without talons or magic. Then he thought about griffons, a lot of it being their technology anyway, but it would be a bit strange seeing fifty griffons in a pony town named after breaking beaks. He shrugged lightly, completely forgetting the atmosphere comment as he took off after his sergeant friend.

Gerrard wasn't exactly the type to want trouble, aside from scaring a few ponies for a bit of fun. That of course didn't mean he avoided trouble well though, the black griffon seeming to get more than his own fair share. He thought it was only fair that everyone else got to share a bit in his greatness. Sharing was a virtue, and it would be greedy of him to keep all of his self awarded awesomeness all to himself, wouldn't it? At least he thought so, the griffon perhaps a bit disillusioned.

[Bellosh]

Situated between Beakbreak’s City airship refueling complex and the local junkyards, the rustic one-story building known as Rufflefeather Tavern was conveniently located to serve the needs of the workers of both facilities. Away from the prying eyes of stopping-over characters who’d give the joint unwanted ‘atmosphere’, the wood-constructed bar served as a refuge for those ponies and griffons who toiled under the unforgiving sun of the Roughrider Ridge. Falco Kestrelson had been a regular of Rufflefeather’s for many years, starting from when he used to strip apart decommissioned airships.

And today, Falco would be bringing a new half-plumber, half-comedian friend along. Finding Rufflefeather Tavern from up high, the ex-sergeant swooped down and made a landing right by the cantina’s door. Figuring the polite thing to do was to wait for Gerrard, Mr. Kestrelson stood by the entrance on his hind legs and gestured towards it with a claw; [colour=#008000]“After you pal; I insist!”[/colour]

[colour=#008000]~Heh heh heh, this is really going to be fun~[/colour]

[Gerrard]

Gerrard flew after his friend, the dark hybrid always liking to fly at a leisurely pace, a habit from his cross country travels. He slowly followed after his friend, the architect flapping his large wings as he landed on the ground. He looked the modest wooden building over with his keen eyes as Falco suggested that he lead the way inside. "I'll make sure to keep a low profile, can't have everyone know that the most important person in Equestria is here with you. How do I look?" he commented quickly the griffon extending his large black wings before curling them up around his body as if they were a cloak. Only the portion of his head above his beak was visible, the hybrid looking like quite the villain as he almost threatened to enter the bar in such an absurd manner.

His smirk returned to a 'normal' expression as his wing returned to a more natural position, the griffon deciding to play off his entrance in the most casual of ways he could imagine. "Alright, I'll lead the charge," he playfully retorted, walking up to the building and pushing the doors open as he lead his friend into the establishment. Gerrard promised himself not to make a spectacle, but he remembered that he just fixed the water in this town. The people of Breakbeak city must be told of the deeds of their savior. The black hybrid mulled over his options, waiting for the perfect time to make his announcement.