A few days later
There was a knock at the door.
Lacrimal opened it.
The glaring sunlight poured in as the small group of ponies were standing right outside.
"Uh, hi," a stallion—presumably the leader of the group—greeted, waving a shy hoof.
Lacrimal raised an eyebrow and lifted his head a little. "And, what are you doing here at the Onion family house? We don't take your advertisements, if that's what you're gonna do."
"No, Mr. Onion, no!" the stallion said, shaking both his head and his forehooves—voice raised, desperate. "We're not salesponies or anything like that!"
"I could tell," Lacrimal said, eyeing the rest of the ponies gathered there—seeing that some of them were wearing casual clothes such as simple shirts and easy hats. "I have a question: Why bring a lot of your friends here? I don't recognize you as any of my children's friends from beyond here."
"Ah, just consider us honored to be rescued by your son, Mr. Onion!" the stallion said, holding up a picture of Watts Onion.
Lacrimal's eyes shot open. He inched his head backward at the picture. Then, taking on a more serious tone, he said, "Wait. Where are you from exactly?"
"Pace!" the stallion said. "All of us, mister!"
"And you're here to...meet my Watts?" He turned his head a little, somewhat perplexed.
The entire group nodded together, showing smiles and grins, their teeth shining.
"Uh, OK, then..."
Lacrimal slowly turned around to see the full extent of the hallway he was in and the dining room at the end. He raised a hoof to his mouth. "Watts?! Some guests are here to see you!" He then turned back to the group—and some of those ponies were already stirred up in excitement and anticipation as could be seen by their shaky hooves and jittery teeth. "Feel free to come inside."
He bowed down a bit and stretched a hoof toward the hallway inside—and the ponies went in with their quips of "Thanks, Mr. Onion!"
"Behave yourself!" Lacrimal told as he closed the door, the last of the group now inside. "If you need anything, I'll just be in the same room, OK?"
In the park, there were several foals going about. However, they were not frolicking on the grass or chasing each other—well, most of them were not doing those things. Rather, under the supervision of Isobar and another pegasus (this one being yellow in coat and scraggly blue mane and scraggly blue tail), they were mowing the grass with not one but two lawnmowers, trimming the bushes here and there with their flowers, and weeding out any weeds. That was not all of their inspiring work, though; some were engaged in the art of painting the scenery and the landscape alongside the adults with their own easels and their own brushes and their own paint, while others were conversing with those who happened to walk by on the concrete paths of the park, asking them questions and wanting answers—all under that child-like curiosity. With all of this activity going on, there was laughter, shouts, screams, hushed talk, encouragement, jokes, and, of course, more questions.
A mustached Earth pony carrying a saddlebag walked up to Isobar and that other pegasus as they, too, were in front of the river, pulling out some weeds beside the foals who were also pulling out weeds.
"Lobby Bud?" the Earth pony said, standing beside the other pegasus. "Is that you?"
Lobby Bud saluted him with a wing as he held some plants in his mouth. He spat them out. "Yeah, I'm Lobby Bud. And you?"
"Glistening Measure," the Earth pony said. He smiled.
"And, have we met before?" Lobby Bud asked.
Isobar had stopped pulling out weeds and was watching the chat unfold.
"No, we haven't," Glistening Measure said. "I'm only here for this: You are Lobby Bud and I claim my fifty bits." With that, he moved a hoof closer to him.
"Oh. I see."
And Lobby Bud got a bag of bits and dropped it on the Earth pony's extended hoof.
"That's great," Glistening Measure said. "Have a nice morning, sirs!"
And he walked away.
"What was that for?" Isobar asked.
The two returned to pulling out weeds—this time, with their hooves.
A weed out. "A fun game," Lobby Bud said.
"Where you pay a hefty sum of bits if you lose?" He wagged a hoof. "You know better than that."
"It's a once-in-a-week thing," Lobby Bud replied in defense, struggling to pull out yet another weed. He grunted and huffed. He opened his wings and flapped them, pulling the weed even farther out though not yet out of the ground.
Then, he was sent flying, with the weed flying even higher as it hurtled out of the park and landed on the street with graceful style.
Meanwhile, the pegasus landed on the grass with not-so-graceful style.
A lot of the foals stopped whatever they were doing to take a look at the injured pegasus.
Several of them laughed, pointing at him; others gathered up to him and did their best to get him up despite his constant pleas that he was "alright, I'm alright! I don't need help; get back to helping the park and the ponies here—I can get up myself!"
But, he did not get up by himself. Even Isobar swooped in and held a wing with his own, pulling his friend up.
Lobby Bud was back on his four hooves.
The foals who had helped him up then ran hurriedly back to their activities.
Isobar smiled as he looked at his now dirty friend. "So, how's the plants treating you?"
"Don't ask," Lobby Bud replied.
On the wooden platform of the train station, Wakes Week stood humming a tune while holding an umbrella though it was not open.
She was the only one there.
The train station itself was not that far away from the center of Ambling. It stood, however, at its outskirts, with rolling fields of grass past that into the horizon.
Then, strings.
Wakey's ears went up as she looked back on her hometown.
Her eyes settled on the auditorium.
A smile was on her lips, quivering.
Music. First, it was just the strings, playing a soothing tune on their own—alone yet prominent, standing out. Then, the brass entered not in bombastic explosions and blasts of energy but in somber, sober notes of quietude, going along with the strings.
Then, the chug of a train.
Wakey's gaze turned away.
There was the train as it was approaching with its heart-shaped lights, its colorful carriages, and cheerful aesthetic of bright hues.
She watched the train slow down.
Nearer and nearer.
Then, it stopped.
The wind was blowing, creating a breeze that bended the grass and the trees over there. She held on to her umbrella, holding it in a firmer grip.
The doors opened.
Several ponies were walking out of the train, some carrying bags or pulling bags while others had nothing but themselves and their friends and family. Happily talking to one another as they exited the train, they boarded the platform and were on their way out into Ambling.
Wakey sighed. A downward turn of her lips. "All familiar faces. No tourists this time, huh?"
Another batch of ponies then went out of the train, bringing with them more bags and more friends and more family and more happy talking as, like those that exited before them, they boarded the platform and were on their way out into town as well. Among them was an Earth pony stallion with a somber fedora but a smiling face as he embraced his family of wife and two foals.
"An outing to surpass all outings, eh?" he asked, looking intently at the mare. "Watercourse, imagine this in your head: A picnic in front of a river in the middle of the mountains over there." Turning round to the mountains in the distance, he called her attention to those grand landforms. "The whole family. Just us. Only us. Then, we can sleep at night, look at the stars that Princess Luna prepared—see the beauty and escape from the rush—the gallop—of normal life."
"But, you didn't forget to bring the camera, did you, Ribbon Tail?" she asked—the mare being blue-coated and bright green-maned as she held one of their foals as the other was walking along.
"I didn't," he said, breaking out a small smile.
A tap on his shoulder.
He turned around. "Oh, who are you, miss?"
"My name's Wakes Week," Wakey said, kinder in tone, still holding her umbrella."I'm the resident tour guide. Would you want to see what Ambling has to offer?"
"I don't mean to offend you, Wakes Week," Ribbon Tail said, "but don't you think the town's too small for a tour? We're not gonna get lost here."
"But, you'll be seeing Ambling with a friend who lives right here," Wakey said, now closer to requesting; she rushed over close to the platform's edge, blocking their path. "You don't want to be on your own for this town that's probably unfamiliar to you—exotic, even!"
"We don't live too far from Ambling," Ribbon Tail said, dismissing her words with a hoofwave and a polite smile, glancing at Watercourse who was also smiling politely while she was cradling her sleeping foal.
"But, you're still unfamiliar with this place, right?" Wakey asked, insisting.
Ribbon Tail sighed. "As long as it's for free."
"I do my tours here for free!" Wakey exclaimed, beaming and almost jumping up into the air.
"Then, why didn't you say so?" Watercourse said. "We'll take it!" She looked at her older foal. "Come on, Runburn!"
He did not say a word. He just blinked and walked with his family as they stepped down the platform with Wakes Week as they entered a dirt path leading up to the many buildings and other places of Ambling.
"Now," Wakey began as they trotted on, "a history lesson on Ambling as we approach the town proper: It was founded by three ponies, namely River Gradient, Brook Stream, and Floodplain...."
"Raw Data?" Dally asked as she approached the burly mustached pegasus sitting on the chair as he read and re-read a tiny piece of paper under tablelight.
The room was wooden. The walls, the floor, the ceiling were all wooden. The table, however, was metal and so was the chair which was cushioned. The smell of the place—it was of fragrant dry wood. The floor felt a little slippery for it was varnished. Behind Dally was a large hallway with portraits of semi-famous ponies on the walls—Raw Data being one of those semi-famous ponies.
"Raw Data?" she asked again. "What does it say? I can help."
"I've got it covered," Raw Data responded without looking up to see her; his focus and attention was all on the paper, his eyes darting left and right. "Don't go—be here, and don't go anywhere. You'll be sending this to the rest of the press to print."
"Then, why are you spending lots of time reading that?" Dally asked, annoyed and demanding.
The stallion tapped the piece of paper. Then, he fixed the table light, making it face the paper once again. Finally, he let go of the paper, turned to the mare, and placed both of hire forehooves on the cold table. "This has some regards to your little expedition. That's why."
"You mean our trip to Winsome Falls?" she asked, her annoyance partially defused as Dally was now calmer.
"Yes, that's it," he said, moving the piece of paper to her. "I wanted to make absolutely sure that I was not receiving prank mail."
She grabbed the paper and held it up, squinting at it through her eyeglasses.
"I wanted to do all I could to check its authenticity," Raw Data said. "And, apparently, I'm still not so sure about it."
She rotated the paper, turned it around, held it at different angles, held it closer to her, turned it around again.
"So, what is it?" Raw Data interrupted, leaning closer to the paper.
Dally smiled as she gave it back to him. "Real thing."
Raw Data smiled back. He looked at the paper he was holding, then gave it back to her. "That means you know what Princess Luna has to say about the ponies you've captured."
Dally nodded.
She trotted out of the room and into the spacious hallway, her hoofsteps echoing.
Later, at sunset
Surrounded by the paper on the walls, the three ponies were in Wakey and Dally's bedroom. The single window gave an astonishing view of the sunset as it got ever closer to the ground over there; the orange sky was above them and so were a few clouds.
Isobar closed the door with a wing.
It was cramped and tight in the room—not much space.
Dally sat on one chair while Isobar brought in the other chair from the other desk which was at the other side of the room.
"This isn't funny if you had to pull me away from that family," Wakey said, sounding concerned as she faced Dally with eyes of worry. "It must be urgent."
"It's good that I have Lobby Bud as my substitute in case I have to go away like this," Isobar said. "I should've thought about doing that a long time ago."
"Now's not the time to be regretting things," Dally said. She brought out the piece of paper from the bag on the desk. She held it out and hoofed it to Wakey. "Here. You have to see it for yourselves."
Wakey got the paper and read it first. She hoofed it to Isobar while giving Dally an odd look.
Isobar read it. Then, he hoofed it back to Dally—any trace of a smile on his face disappeared. "It's...fine? I kind of understand it."
"One year," Wakey muttered, a hoof on her cheek. "One year. Yeah, to give them enough time to mend their ways."
"I understand it, too," Dally said. "While they wronged many ponies in the past, so did a lot of other ponies, too. Case in point: that Starlight Glimmer mare that the Princess of Friendship herself taught before. I don't know all the specifics of what she did, but I've heard claims that she would've destroyed Equestria had it not been for Princess Twilight."
"We know that, too," Isobar said.
"So, why did you bring us all here?" Wakey asked. "I know it's more than just to tell us that Flim and Flam will be out and about in one year."
"It's not them, Wakey," Dally said, raising her tone in a cautious way. "It's Onion."
"What's wrong with Onion?" Wakey asked.
Isobar gasped. "OK, OK, I think I know why."
Wakey turned to him, leaning. "What is it?"
"He was so mad at Flim and Flam throughout the search," Isobar explained, gesticulating with his forehooves. "That speech he made to those brothers—not the best, but I could say it was better than just sending them off to Friendship Penitentiary."
"That's the name of the prison?" Isobar asked. He held his head with a hoof. "I was not paying attention that time, huh?"
"Look—" Dally had a severe manner about her "—let's not get side-tracked by names of prisons. I don't know how to break it to Onion myself. I was expecting you would know how to go through this."
"You're overthinking things, Dally," Isobar said, extending a wing and tapping her shoulder gently. "Onion may be passionate, but he's not zealous like that."
"I don't know," Wakey said, slurring her voice in uneasiness. "Onion was very angry at them. If he was the only one in our closely-knitted group, who knows what would have happened to the two? A fight that they couldn't win?"
"He would've been beaten down," Isobar said. "We had a show of force because we had numbers. They were too scared to battle us because we were too many for them to defeat us, not just because we were under royal orders."
"It's not just that," Dally said. She then turned to Wakey, bearing an even more serious face than before—glasses adjusted and down. "Wakey, you've noticed the sudden influx of tourists these past days?"
"Yeah," Wakey said, nodding slowly. "Because of the hero status we all got. I even received my fair share of gratitude mail—I write back, if you're wondering." She made an awkward smile and waved a little.
"Well, has any of us checked up on Onion very recently, like yesterday?" Dally asked.
"Not me," Isobar said. "I've seen him a few times today, but it was just the same old routine—buy more seeds, buy more tools for the farm, eat out at the diner with his brother."
"Think, Isobar," Dally commanded, half-raising up from her chair. "Have you seen anything unusual with Onion today during those few times?"
Isobar stuck his tongue out as he thought, his eyes facing upward to the ceiling, the hanging light in his vision.
Wakey did so, too—stuck her tongue out and looked up.
Then, the pegasus hit the table with a hoof. "He was constantly smiling!"
"Any idea why he's constantly smiling the way he's...smiling?" Dally asked, leading with her words to something definite.
Silence as the two thought. Faint hoofsteps and the screeching of carriage wheels from outside, on the street.
Isobar hit the table again and shot Wakey a look, pointing at her. "How many of those new tourists are visiting Onion? They must be feeding his ego!"
Wakey gasped.
"Exactly," Dally said, wagging a hoof as she turned to her. "He's been receiving tons of patronage because of what we did. Fan mail, excited tourists, precious gifts, undivided attention—and, it doesn't take much reasoning to then reach the possibility that he's proud of being Flim and Flam's Unfazed Pony—the pony who saw them for who they really are and stood up against them. That title is surely going to garner him lots of recognition—he's like a pony in the spotlight; he is a pony in the spotlight."
"There aren't that many ponies visiting him," Wakey argued. "I've calcualted it myself."
"It's not a matter of how many," Dally declared. "He has many—and that's enough to warrant some worry."
A pause as the three looked at each other.
"So, what do you propose we should do about the news?" Dally asked, grabbing, once again, the piece of paper from the desk.
Isobar's smile faded away. "We should tell it to him upfront."
"Consider his feelings, Isobar," Wakey said as she brought her chair closer to the rest of them, facing Isobar with a face that spoke of a silent plea. "Can we at least try to ease him in to it? Like, 'Hey, buddy! How's your day?' And, we smile, like this—" And, she grinned, showing to her friends a wide array of shiny teeth.
"Was that really necessary?" Dally asked.
"This is a serious thing," Wakey said, that grin now away. "I might as well do all I could to make sure our dear Onion won't be broken by the news. I don't want to see him so badly hurt."
"Explanations," Dally suddenly spouted out. "We need to explain it all to him. He ought to respect the decision of the Princesses, especially the Princess of Friendship herself. If she could turn a villain from a disastrous plan to tear apart Equestria and convince her that friendship is better, then she's definitely right in saying that Flim and Flam should only be confined for a year at max because she believes that they can still be helped into being good." She smiled. "And, I guess we solved the problem."
Isobar hummed in agreement. "Sounds good to me."
"Why don't we give him some free dinner or snacks?" Wakey insisted, holding out a hoof at her friends—slightly distraught.
The two were looking at her now, all attention at her.
"We have to soften the blow as much as we can, guys," Wakey told, her voice trembling. "We haven't been together with each other for as long as you have been with him as best friends—" facing the pegasus who was looking at her with a wistful expression "—but, I really don't want that poor pony to bawl his eyes out as if the world's crashing down on him!"
Isobar looked down and sighed.
Dally adjusted her glasses once more, half closing them as she viewed the interaction between the two.
"You're the rational friend. You're also the joking friend. Let me be the friend who'll pick him up, who'll keep him company after all's said and done. I know he's not gonna take this easy—so, let me be that friend."
No tears—watery eyes.
Isobar sighed again, attempting to avert her gaze.
Dally looked at her—a pout.
A sniff in that cramped room.
Onion was back in his bedroom—his old, cozy bedroom with its bed, its shelves, its posters, its window, its table and chair. On one side of the desk was a sizeable stack of papers—unordered, not completely straight, but it was still a sizeable stack. At the center was the current letter he was reading before he stood up and walked to the window.
A giddy smile was on his face as he looked down on the street and saw yet another small crowd of ponies shuffling their way past carriages and streetlights and other ponies to his house.
Except for them to pass by.
A quiet growl. Then, checking himself. "It's OK, Onion," he said as he paced his room. "It's just your neighbors. Or, if they're not your neighbors, they're ponies just having a nice visit, just walking around and trotting, enjoying Ambling for the nice village that it is. You're not the main hero or good guy everypony will look up to—that's what it is. It's gonna be fine, Onion. It's gonna be fine."
And he turned away from the window, walking back to the table with the letter.
He sat down, picked up the letter.
Read a few lines.
Loud knocks on the door.
Ears perked up.
A smile.
Door creaking open.
"Oh, you're his closest friends who accompanied him, right?" he heard his father say.