//------------------------------//
// An Entrance 
// Story: The Search in Winsome Falls 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

A pony in that distance was carrying a post office box.
"Huh? That's weird," Onion said.
"Weird?" Isobar said. "This isn't just weird. This isn't right at all—didn't the Princess say something about a post office kiosk of some sort?"
"Why are they breaking it down?" Wakes Week asked.
"You should ask the ponies in the machines," Dally News said, pointing a hoof over there.
The four walked closer and closer to the clearing.
What came into view was Winsome Falls itself in all its beauty. Vast stretches of greenfield grass dotted with wayward flowers scattered about (among them were dandelions); dirt paths not harsh but as if blending in with the environment around it—smooth, not rough—trees bearing fruit and flowers (of yellow, red, pink, and of more colors) of many kinds beside crisp and fresh rivers of clear water of a transparent yet blue quality, sided by water plants such as lily pads and cattails alongisde rocks and stones breaking up the water and, bit by bit, purifying it; waterfalls of immense width, large enough to handle a few ships and still have room for one more, from which some of the rivers flowed—and these water forms were at the forefront of a hilly, mountainous background with their own trees at the top—and, finally, the piece de resistance (according to some tourists, not all tourists): the rainbow falls themselves, pouring down rainbow, pure light split into that colorful spectrum—from stationary clouds that were no less brilliant in their graceful form—giving the sky more than a fair face as it was decorating the sky with colors.
Accompanying that natural beauty were the signs of progress: steel frames that were the prototypes to firm buildings, established structures where the blade and the laser could be heard in symphony, large green and yellow machinery with enormous claws, rollers all producing a grand noise that was shrilling for soem of the ponies too close (for they were holding their ears)—and there was one vehicle which glowed a slight green.
Various ponies were in a hurry of activity: Ponies wearing construction uniforms (hard helmets, bright vests) working with hammers, screwdrivers, and wrench (among other tools of the trade) in splitting beams of metal and wood to then prepare for the next stage of a building's life; ponies (most of them Earth ponies) hauling large logs of timber toward a gathering place where all the collected timber were—and some were already hauling it off to the sawmills where, either by blade or by laser, wood was cut and turned into a more usable form (smaller but more rectangular, as par the standard)—ponies wearing similar suits and appearing stoic as they observed the space before them, ponies holding papers on their hooves and supervising everything by looking and, on the surface, doing nothing else.
When the four ponies stood beside the mailbox, they saw all of that.
Onion placed his forehooves on his cheek. "Mystery solved! Hah! We've caught the bad guys in action!" He made a victorious pose—pointing a hoof in the air. "Now, that we're done, let's request the guards to come in and—"
Isobar placed a wing in front of the unicorn. "They're supposed to be a last resort, remember?"
Onion gulped. Pointing to the ponies working there in the clearing, he said, "But, how are we going to fight against them? A couple of hired henchponies is fine, but everypony else? And what about Flim and Flam? They've been in this for years!"
"And you were so proud about it all when you started this," Isobar said. "I thought some optimism is going to keep us through."
"Before anything else, guys," Dally News interrupted, serious in her voice, "let's think about analyzing the current situation and how we're going to take care of these ponies. Care for talking, anyone?"
Onion gulped a second time.
Wakes Week raised a hoof, grinning. Isobar looked at her and raised a wing.
"And," Dally News ordered, "make sure that you don't look too suspicious—pretend that you're campers going on for a nice hike to Winsome Falls. The cart has our tents and other supplies—it will look great in keeping up our camper disguise."
The two ponies nodded.
"Onion," she said, "you don't go with them. Stay here. We'll be the other campers—think of the two ahead as the more open of us campers. Got it?"
Onion nodded. "OK! I think I—"
Dally looked at the two and nodded.
The two went ahead.
For Isobar and Wakes Week, the noise only got louder from there on. Carbon smells were present and soot was there, too, although not in belching levels—just little puffs of smoke. Several ponies already noticed the newcomers—eyeing the two ponies smiling and seeing all the busy movements that were going on around them, chaotic yet having an order in them somehow because the ponies holding the papers and reading them were there so there must be a schedule and everypony is working on time, right?
No matter what the condition of the actual work was, two unicorns inside one of the vehicles—the one that slightly glowed green—exited the confines of their windowed metal control cabin. Dusting themselves off, they revealed their full attire to the newcomers: striped shirts of blue and white, black bowties, and straw hats with a blue ribbon around it. The two unicorns looked quite similar to each other for they had the same color of coat—a light yellow—and had the same coloring of their mane and their tail—striped red and white. One had a mustache, the other had none. Their cutie marks complemented each other—the one without the mustache had an apple slice, the one with the mustache had an almost complete apple with a slice missing.
They looked at each other and walked towards the Isobar and Wakes Week.
The "campers" stood their ground, though retaining their smiles. "You must be the ones running the place, yeah?" Isobar inquired, having a "forced cool" accent. He extended a hoof.
The non-mustached one grabbed his hoof. "Hello, kind sir and madam!" he greeted in rapid-fire speed, continuing on: "Your assumption is correct! We're the ones who are running the place—currently, not the entirety of Winsome Falls!"
"Although it's an ambition of ours to someday own it for the benefit of other ponies such as you!" the mustached one said. "Oh, and, why, it's very impolite of us to keep talking about what we're doing here without giving you a proper introduction of who we are!"
"And, would you like it in song form?" the non-mustached one asked.
A pony in the background pushed a gramophone into view.
"Uh, no?" Wakes Week asked. "We're just here to, uh, pass by! The best part of Winsome Falls if farther up ahead, so we'll just rest here for a while—do you have any refreshments like a convenience store or something? We'd like to stock up on more food."
"Why not, good mare?" the mustached one said. "But, I think that we're running a little too late on telling you our names!"
"If you don't know us already!" the non-mustached one continued, raising a hoof. "We are more than happy to accommodate some four campers!"
"Iambic Stress, place the gramophone back while we serve these nice ponies a good and honest showing of our kindness and generosity—" turning to the two campers in front, firing out his words in quick succession "—and, don't you go yet!"
"Yes, don't you go yet! For we have in here more than what keeps you up and going!"
"We have here more than the necessities that we're always mowing!"
"Beyond your wildest dreams and your grandest imaginations!"
"The birthplace of excitement, more than just habitations!"
"From here will spring forth the future!—" and brought out a blueprint and a bunch of photos.
"Hasten it with our forwarding of culture!—" and brought out a couple of bits and books.
"Entertainment and occupation all in one place!—" and brought out some vinyl records along with another hat.
"'Winsome Resort'! All run by this face—" pointing to himself "—that face—" pointing to his partner "—and, if you want, yours—" pointing to them.
"And, it's all run by the Flim Flam Brothers—that's me and him, respectively."
The two "campers" merely looked at each other—sweating.