//------------------------------//
// Temporary Check 
// Story: The Search in Winsome Falls 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

The noise of loud construction and other work still went on—machinery still pounding upon the ground or on the timber or on the structures. Ponies were still doing what they were doing—cutting or hauling timber, building up the to-be buildings, and supervising (though the supervisors got bad, hidden talk behind their backs).
Flim and Flam were over by the river, a while's away from the site. They were looking at some of the trees there, the ones with the pink flowers blossoming forth from it.
"Why, don't they just look dandy!" Flim expressed as his horn glowed and as he levitated a few flowers to himself. Facing his brother, he said, "These would spruce up the grounds, wouldn't it?"
Flam flinched back at the sight of his brothers floating some pretty flowers. Then, chilling out, he answered, "I'm absolutely sure they would, brother."
Flim nodded. "The next thing we could then do with these flowers is use these as accessories, brother!"
"What?!" Flam held on to his straw hat. "Don't you think that our signature getup isn't comely enough?"
"No, no, no, no, brother!" Flim waved a hoof at him. "They'll be accessories for the visitors, the guests!"
Flam placed a hoof on his chin, inspected the flowers himself for a few seconds, then nodded. "Alright, Flim!"
"You're OK with it, Flam?"
"Several flowers won't hurt, will it?"
"I assure you, brother, they won't! Besides, they wouldn't notice that there are no flowers for them to wear as long as we don't tell them about this very conversation!"
"Ah, that's the brother I know!"
And the two laughed haughty laughter together and in unison, with Flim still levitating the flowers.



Peeking out from behind one of the bushes lining the forests—a pair of binoculars. It turned to the left. It turned to the right.
"Boiled Sweets," Onion whispered from within the bush, "do you know any way to, uh, do something that will waste some of their time?"
"Uh, Onion?" Isobar asked. "Do you think it's a good idea that we all stay together in one bush?"
"Communication won't be so easy when we're so far apart," Onion replied. "I know that much."
"I'm getting squeezed out!" Wakes Week forcefully whispered. "Isobar, I think that's your wing!"
"Sorry! There, my wing's retracted now. Better?"
"Thanks."
"I feel very cramped here," Boiled Sweets expressed.
"Look, buddy!" Onion said—harsher. "Do you want to be a hero for the Princess?"
"I-it's good, but I'm OK if I just live out a normal life and—"
"Then, let's work together through the lack of room!"
An audible gulp.
Onion turned the binocular to the left. "Change of question: Where did they place the post office kiosk? Did they dismantle it? Did they transfer it somewhere else? Did they cut the wood used to build it? Was it even made out of wood?"
"Uh...I'm not sure!"
A sigh.
"Onion," Dally News said, "what use is sending a letter to the Princess now? You don't know what Flim and Flam do to the mailponies who are sent here."
"That's why I take risks, miss!" Onion answered.
"That's not how you use 'miss.'"
"Hey, it rhymed!"
Another sigh.
A sniff. "Guys," Isobar said, "I smell chocolate."
"Huh?!" Boiled Sweets let out. "How did they get the chocolate already? They must be really fast!"
"Unless they brought chocolate of their own," Onion said. He shifted the binoculars to the right. "I can confirm it. We have three workers eating chocolate bars. Maybe it's break time already."
"It can't possible be break time yet! I've checked the schedule—"
"Did you dedicate time to memorize the schedule?"
"Uh...ah..."
"This is going to complicate the problem."
"Instead of talking about how things are going so bad," Wakes Week said, "what about trying to find a way to get out of this sticky situation, too?"
"Boiled Sweets is the pony here who knows best about how they operate!"
"Well, he doesn't know everything, Onion."
"I know that he doesn't know everything. The knowledge he has is more than enough for us."
"You're trapping yourself already," Isobar said. "I think that's just excuses you're making."
"What?! Excuses?!"
Then, the pegasus sneezed.
Silent for a while.
"Just one, though. Because, excuse me!"
"Isobar!"
Onion smacked his friend with the binoculars.
"Ow! What was that for?"
"At least it was funny!" Wakes Week said. "You've got to give him that!"
"That's low-effort humor right there!" Onion accused. "I can make better jokes than you!"
"Why aren't you cracking them at me all the time, then?" Isobar asked. "What, are you 'fraidy?"
"I'm not 'fraidy!"
"Then, tell me a joke you made up! No stealing."
"This isn't the perfect time to be brushing up on your sense of humor, guys," Dally spoke up.
"Well, maybe it is!" Onion declared. "I won't suffer under your total humor control, Isobar!"
"Oh, this is going to be good!" Wakes Week exclaimed.
"I thought we were supposed to be quiet?" Boiled Sweets inquired.
"Yeah, welcome to the club," Dally answered.
"Just give me time to think of a joke!" Onion said. "Hmm."
"Stop your speaking and start the joking already!" Isobar spoke. "Stop beating around the bush!"
Onion groaned again. Wakes Week laughed.
"What's wrong, Onion?"
"I didn't even say my own joke!"
"That's unhealthy for you—like poison!"
"Wait, what?"
"Poison joke!"
Onion groaned yet again.	
"Guys?" Dally spoke up.
"Onion—what did the police officer say to the couch?"
"What?!"
"Not sofast!"
"Really?!"
"One more—what is a dog's favorite part of a house?"
"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" Boiled Sweets asked.
"A roof-roof!"
"Isobar!" Onion yelled. "I'm tired of your jokes!"
"Spies! This side!"
And everypony inside the bush covered their mouths.
"Time to hit the dirt?" Onion asked.
"Time to hit it," Wakes Week said.
Then, out the five went in full gallop.



Fast, hurried hoofsteps getting louder and louder.
Flim and Flam turned around to see the hatted stallion levitating a batch of paper—perspired. "What's the matter, Pome Granite?"
"We just found some spies or whatever they were—let out a warning of some sort!"
The two brothers looked at each other and smirked. "Looks like we got them, brother!" Flim said.
"We certainly do, brother!" Flam replied.
"I'm not the one you're talking about, right?" Pome Granite asked, shivering.



"Get out the flashlights!"
"We have visual!"
"Any update on last hoofsteps heard or seen?!"
"They were headed twelve o' clock!"
"Full sweep, everypony! You three—fly ahead! You five, on the left! You five, on the right! You five, stay here in case they're just hiding—search everything! Trees, shrubbery, anything! Rest of you, follow me!"
And the ponies in their variety and mishmash of clothes headed out to follow their orders, pegasi flying while the rest running or staying where they were supposed to stay.
"Wait a minute, sir!"
"What is it?"
"Didn't they have a cart?"
"Yes."
"Well, here are some wheel tracks over here. I think they'll be useful."



The five were galloping (or, in Isobar's case, flying), everything else becoming a blur in their sight as what's ahead was in focus for them. The cart was dragged behind, covered though some items were already precariously close to the edge—even closer with each bump. The sounds of more hoofsteps and incoherent chatter far away were heard.
"This is not good at all!" Onion yelled. "Not good!"
"I don't want to be running again!" Boiled Sweets yelled. "This is worse than the first time they went out for me!"
"I have my umbrella ready just in case!" Wakes Week said.
"How long do we have to run for?" Dally shouted, looking at Isobar in the air. "Not everypony can easily fly, you know!"
"Best option is to fight them as soon as we can!" Isobar answered while he dodged trees. "If we try to hide again, Flim and Flam will do their best to—I don't know, leave the site and blame the dilemma on us!"
"Then, let's stop this cart!"
"Now?!"