//------------------------------//
// Five Lines 
// Story: The Search in Winsome Falls 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

The wheels' creaking and bumping became full out skidding and screeching as it shored on mounds of piled up soil.
Boiled Sweets shuddered and hid behind Onion—who was also (slightly) shuddering himself.
Approaching party—incoming ponies. Hoofsteps aplenty, semi-military chatter ready.
"What some do to catch a break!" Boiled Sweets exclaimed—shaky, holding on tight to Onion.
Onion responded with a groan and a rolling of his eyes. "That's not helping! You're an Earth pony—you must know your way out of physical confrontations, right?"
"My talent is making candy, remember?!"
"Yeah, and Wakey here—" pointing a hoof at the mare "—has a talent with umbrellas yet she's able to beat up lots of bad guys with one umbrella!"
"You're saying I can beat up bad guys with my candy?! I've got some in my shirt pockets—w-will it—"
"Just—I don't know, throw some candies at them?!"
"That's no good idea," Isobar said.
"So said the ponies who made electricity!" Onion yelled.
"We have them!" a voice announced.
And then, the five were surrounded by a lot of ponies—most of them burly and muscular, stocky in build, all seething with a controlled anger as could be seen by their narrowed eyes focused on the five.
Wakes Week brought out her umbrella and brandished it in front of the henchponies. "Do you like to have it the easy way, guys? Or the hard way?!"
The rest of her friends glanced at her.
Onion and Dally lit up their horns.
Isobar spread open his wings and moved a hoof through the dirt.
Boiled Sweets nervously took out a few hard candies out of his pocket.
"Yes, you!" one of the henchponies—a unicorn—said as he walked out of the enclosing group. He differed from the rest of his comrades due to his hat—a straw hat just like Flim's and Flam's.
His gaze met the candy pony's—and Boiled Sweets shuddered even more, his hoof with the candy shaking as well.
"Flim and Flam were just looking for you," that straw hatted fellow said. "Now, we can have no hassle here—just give yourself up and you can go back. I promise you that they won't punish your...insubordination." A pause—a smirk. "If you don't comply—that's going to be a little problem that we're here to resolve."
Then, he looked away from him—and at his rescuers.
"And, I pity the ponies who were sent to take care of his candy shop—they were taken down by you, I presume. But—no worries, what we may lack in quality we make up for in raw numbers."
That fellow threw his hat to the ground.
Then, all the henchponies lunged at the five.
Umbrella blocked some.
Wings blocked others.
Floated twig—parry, parry, strike, and down the suited pony went.
Umbrella thrown out—returned by swift wings.
Onion kick—pulling of mane, distraction—bumbling, bumbling and stumbling as ponies running bumped into him.
Pegasus in flight—moving here, moving there, flying here, flying there, confusion, dizzying.
Log levitated—beat down, beat down, knock out.
Punched up, cornered at tree bark.
Candy thrown—straight to one's mouth—"Delicious!"—and kicked.
Grabbed Onion—struggling; "Help!"
Wings approaching.
Snagged.
Down.
"Don't waste any time on these—" and knocked out.
"Help!" candy pony shouted—under hooves' grip, dragged.
Umbrella to face—smack.
Let go, grip lost.
"Thanks!"
"Don't mention it!"
Another log levitated—pushing through several, including Onion's captor. Let go and free.
Throw from both sides.
Recover, recover—quickly, now galloping, charging at each other.
Dodge.
Fall to dirt—another henchpony.
Kick to tree.
Fall down, striking more than a few—others fled.
"There's Boiled Sweets!"
Equipped with umbrella—flung at suspect.
Snarled. "Agh!"
Charged.
Blocked with umbrella.
Hooffight—hoof on one side, umbrella on the other.
Parry, parry, block, defend, attack, attack, strike, parry, strike—the pattern went on.
Sweat down the mare's face.
Closed umbrella.
Uppercut umbrella.
Out he went.
Speed through air—barreling through final few.
Thrown candy—distraction and hitting the fellow.
That fellow picked up his hat from the ground and growled. "That fast?! H-how?"
"There were five of us," Wakes Week said.
"Well, y-yes, I know! But how?!"
"Maybe you never had to face off against more than a hoofful of ponies before, hm?"
"You're right." The fellow smashed the hat on to his head. "I don't know what your purpose here is, but you're not going to get out of this one unscathed!"
Then, Wakes Week laughed.
The laughter echoed throughout the woods.
Not just the fellow but even her friends looked at her as if she were mad.
"What's funny about suffering?!" the fellow shouted, his own question echoing throughout the woods as well.
"Just look around you, sir!" she replied with a glint in her voice.
He looked around himself.
Knocked out and unconscious ponies laying about on the ground, sprawled out in beaten up ways.
He growled. "I practiced that line a dozen times in case that would happen! I'm not going to be bested by the likes of you! I'll let Flim and Flam know about this travesty! They'll know the best way to handle you rabble!"
"Aww, you don't even make sense now!" Wakes Week went on. "Besides—how will Flim and Flam know about this if you won't be there?"
"Wait, what?"



Mouth covered with cloth, bound up in rope, tied to a tree. He struggled, attempting to free himself.
"Are you sure the Princess won't be disasppointed that we had to restrain him like this?" Isobar asked as he and the rest stood in front of him.
"Yeah," Onion added, facing Wakey. "I know that Princess Luna is the stricter of the two, but do you think she advocates this kind of thing?"
"What do you want me to do?" she asked back. "Let him escape and tell Flim and Flam? Hah. You, of all ponies, should know better than that—your Daring Do books told you that, right?"
"Uh, Daring Do keeps on fighting Dr. Caballeron even though she had many chances to arrest him."
Wakey groaned and smacked her face with a hoof.
"Just to keep the series going," Dally said. "I don't blame her, though—A.K. Yearling's a writer. Where else will she get her money from?"
"Selling candy," Boiled Sweets answered, raising a hoof. "Are we going home now?"
"Not yet," Onion said. "We still have to take care of Flim and Flam and stop whatever they're doing—those conponies!" Then, he shook his fist in what he thought was their general direction.
"Didn't you say that it was deforestation?" Dally asked.
"Oops. Yeah. Deforestation! They're deforestationing and doing bad things to the natural beauty of Winsome Falls!"
"That's...better?" Dally turned her head a little at that.
"Just wait until you get to the highest authorities in the land, brothers!" Onion shouted, placing a hoof close to his mouth. "You hear me?!"
"I don't have a brother!" a voice yelled back.
"What?!"
Then, Onion threw himself into a gallop and headed straight.
"Onion!" everypony else cried out.
"Wait for me!" Isobar yelled as he flew, following him.



They weren't that far away from the rest of the group—one would only have to look past several trees to regain sight of them. But, they weren't near—much ground was between the stray stallions and their friends (plus one tied up enemy).
The two stallions then gasped at the sight in front of them. They stood on their four hooves, firm on the ground as the shock on their faces wouldn't go away.
The pony who had yelled back planted the music stand on to the ground. "Why, you look like you've just seen your long-lost relative! Or short-lost—I've seen a few ponies who couldn't handle even a few days' loss emotionally." He rubbed his eyes. "Well, you must know my name: Five Lines, and that's it. You can tell from my cutie mark—" which was five horizontal lines "—that I have a knack for all things musical—but, the music stand must've given it away." He smiled. "You know, I hate it when I give myself away like that."
Onion and Isobar looked at each other, the shock slowly diminishing.
Five Lines picked up a sunflower. "Wanna smell?" He grinned. "A change of topic would be nice—after all that secret—but, it's not secret—my name, that is, right, right?"
"Uh, OK?" both of them said, glancing at each other one more time with weird looks.
"We were just checking—yeah, just checking who made that sound," Onion said. "You're totally not familiar at all, Five Lines." He forced his way into a hoofshake. "Nothing too suspicious here!"
"Nice try!" Five Lines said, patting Onion's hoof away, smiling. "But, I've met too many naive criminals and non-criminals to not know what's a bluff and what's a not." He tore out a piece of bark from the tree beside him and pointed it at him—still smiling at him as well. "And, what are you hiding? Treasure? Documents? Treasured documents made out of diamonds? If it's the latter, count me in!" He jumped up into the air.
"We're not here to get anything like that," Isobar said. "We're here to—"
"What's that?!" Five Lines asked, covering his ear with a hoof. "You're not here for the obvious reasons? Isn't that an exotic expedition you've accomplished—and that's what they'll call me until I prove them wrong!"
"Prove who wrong?" Onion asked, tilting his head once again to the side. "You have music managers to live up to?"
"Managers with no music, I can say that!" Five Lines lashed out. "Unscrupulous and evil, but that doesn't matter—they're cold, efficient, and ignorant about music. Tell me what, not why—the why is too simple. It's all about the coins, sirs, coins and nopony likes what's outside the usual—the norm, norm, norm!"
Onion stepped back, now returning to shuddering. "It was...uh, fun talking with you, Five Lines, but—uh, as long as you don't bother us, we'll just, uh, leave you?" He wiped the sweat off of his face—only for it to be replaced with the next batch of sweat.
Isobar nodded. "I have to agree with my friend here. We're in the middle of some busy camping...activities!"
"Finally!" Five Lines said, hugging the pegasus. "Sweet home! Not exactly home, but it's better than just the bare standards I've been facing as of late!"
"You've been out here in the forest alone?!" Onion exclaimed.
"Not exactly alone, either. Birds are living creatures, too! Too bad they're way too sensitive when it comes to these hearing things." He motioned a hoof at his ears. "Too sensitive. Could hear a hoofstep from a mile away—you know what that means?" He eyed his music stand. "There. The bane of my existence recently." Then, he paced around on the ground. "Inspiration—very untimely if you ask me!"
"Look, kind sir," Onion said, holding up a hoof and wearing a quivering grin—mane ruffled. "You mean well. Very nice fellow—somewhat crazy, but who isn't?"
"I know flattery when I see it!" Five Lines yelled. "Stop that deception!"
"What Onion was trying to say," Isobar continued, stepping right in front of his friend, "was that we're so busy that we can't even accommodate one more pony. We're truly sorry about this serious inconvenience, but that's how it is—busy unloading supplies and preparing everything."
"I can be of help to earn my rightful spot!" Five Lines said—in a cheerful tone and closed eyes. He took up his music stand and held it with a strong hoof before slinging it around his torso. "I'll prove to you that I'm not unuseful—if that's even a word!" Then, he whispered, "Should've just said 'useful,' but what's said is said so let's get going—"
Isobar stopped him with a stiff wing. "I'm sorry, sir. But, we just can't hold any more—"
"Ah, repeating reasons!" Five Lines said, raising up a hoof in protest and adopting a haughty, high-falutin tone. "The first sign that something's up and dubious in the air! I can already feel it—are you running away from the authorities or what?"
"We're here by the authority of Princess—"
Isobar gagged his mouth with a hoof. Faced Five Lines and said, "Princess Frondescence! Yes, she's not actually a Princess, you see—" keeping up his sharp inflection (though his speech was becoming jittery) "—because she was named that way at birth!"
"You know that it's a crime to name a pony 'Prince' or 'Princess,'" Five Lines said, smirking. "But, I'm no lawyer—I'm just a pony who knows a few about a lot and a lot about a few and I'm also part of a curious bunch—so, tell me, kind sir, what's going on in that camp of yours? If you have diamond documents, I'm still in, right?"
"What's with diamond documents, anyway?" Onion asked.
"I get bits. That's it."
"Oh. Right." He sighed.
"Who's stopping me from walking to your camp?!" Five Lines then quipped as he marched his way around the two stallions—who were watching him in that defying act.
Isobar yanked him on his music stand's sling.
He dropped on to the ground.
"Force?!" Five Lines yelled. "Are you agents or what?! Well—more unscrupulous activity from my employers! Hmph!"
Then, he ran—away from the two.
Onion and Isobar watched him go.
Isobar looked back. Then back at him.
He gasped.
"Onion. I think I know who his employers are."
Then, he zipped his way out of the area.



"Mustache Spoon?" Wakey said, perplexed. "That's an unusual name for a pony."
"My great-great granddad's the inventor of the mustache spoon," the straw-hatted pony tied to the tree said, still gruff and eyeing Boiled Sweets—who was sleeping with his head rested on a pillow on the ground—with a hostile stare. "A long line of stallions wearing funny mustaches—was the first one to be the exception."
"What is a mustache spoon?" Wakey asked, smiling.
"Not telling you," he bluntly responded. "I've already revealed more than enough of myself as it is. The way things are going, I'll end up single-hoofedly destroying the whole resort down. My name and some history is all you're gonna get!" He snarled at her.
She screamed a bit, jumping up.
"Be thankful you know my name at all!" he roared. Then, he struggled again to get out free—to no avail.
Wakey, shivering, felt a tap on the head. She looked back.
"He's just trying to be intimidating," Dally said. "Without Flim and Flam nearby, he's pretty much worthless to them."
"But, it looks like he knows a lot about the resort and whatever else the conponies are doing."
"So?" Dally spoke. She adjusted her glasses once again with her green magic. "It's not like he can teleport his way out of here; he's not a unicorn."
Then, flapping of wings followed by a thud.
The mares looked behind them.
The tied up stallion squinted his eyes at the returnees.
The sleeping Boiled Sweets was still sleeping—even snoring.
Isobar landed beside Onion as they stood in front of the newscomer—the music stand pony with the five-lines cutie mark.
Five Lines looked around—seeing everypony present, his eyes wide in distress.
"Everyone," Isobar announced, gesturing to him with a hoof, "meet Five Lines. Musician, former employee of Flim and Flam."