The train decelerated, finally stopping in full at the Canterlot train station.
The station itself was an upgrade from the "plain old" one at Ponyville: Each wall had windows that were as tall and were almost as wide, giving anyone inside a commanding view of Canterlot beyond and giving anyone outside a good sweep of who's waiting inside—besides the ponies, there were also clocks ticking by, desks occupied by clerks and accountants writing away and talking to whoever is in front, rows of metal benches where ponies (and a griffon holding a suitcase) sat now eyeing the train that had just arrived, and potted plants beautifying the spacious waiting area at strategic points—ranging from mere flowers and shrubs to even tiny trees.
If the interior was beautiful, the exterior was lavish. Yellow bars, as of gold, alternated with those studded with diamonds between each section of the windowed walls; a big dome rose up from the center of the station, standing as an observatory post where ponies in serious-looking hats looked here and there and exchanged quick sentences with each other before moving their eyes back to the papers both on their tables and tacked on to their boards. Right above the wooden platform—this one made from a smoother cut of timber—was a grand clock, ticking with an audible tick.
Judging by the clock, it was just past noon.
Ponies had gathered on the wooden platform—no smiles on their faces, just anxious looks.
The big train door slid open and Press Release and Eff Stop went on to the platform, swinging their heads around as they beheld Canterlot.
Groans and sighs could be heard—"You were the only ponies on that train?!" a mare screamed before she was hushed by a nearby guard wearing yellow armor and yellow horeshoes.
Press Release glared at the offending mare before she and Eff Stop hopped off the platform and on to the street.
This city was a fancy one—there was no lack of opulence on display here, not even on the buildings themselves, for spires were common in that yellow-purple scheme. The walls were white—if not white then they were purple. The sidewalks and the roads were polished and clean, free from any trash or garbage (although not free from the carriages that sped through). The stores the reporters could see were already selling ostentatious items at extravagant prices—jewelry, watches, plates of small food acquiring bits that would not fit inside a large box. Scents of various perfumes and colognes filled the air—of flowers, of fruits, of vegetables, of woods, of seeds, of leaves, of spices—combining into a bomb of cosmopolitan fragrances where crossing the road would yield a slightly different whiff. No doubt that the perfumes and the colognes emanated from the fancy ponies walking about, dressed and suited in their showy many-frilled clothes all topped off with earrings and ties and fancy hats. One or two stallions were even wearing monocles.
Of course, that did not stop them from sporting worried faces nor halt the pouring of sweat nor restrain them from walking about in a more hurried manner—long strides and fast paces. Besides the carriages speeding through with their passengers holding their manes against the wind, there was a tense atmosphere throughout the esteemed city—no looking up with heads raised, there was murmuring all about punctuated with gasps and certain ponies galloping away. Several ponies—carrying suitcases and sacks of bits—were rushing about, already headed for the station and jumping inside. Distressed ponies of much wealth discussed amongst themselves with nervy eyes, hooves aching to run out at an instant's notice.
It was quiet, yet also somewhat noisy in Canterlot. At least this part of Canterlot.
"This is getting weirder," Press Release said, looking at Eff Stop.
He did not say a word—he kept looking around, camera ready though no flashes yet.
The two crossed the street, then walked on the sidewalk—windows of more rich items on display, estates and mansions of towering proportions and expensive taste with fountains and sprinklers, restaurants boasting of exquisite cuisine as the culinary flavors mingled with the fragrant scents and made something elegant and appetizing, big old-fashioned streetlights at regular intervals along the sidewalk.
They still did not stop the decorated ponies of Canterlot from wearing those anxious looks and faces, even watching the two reporters with suspicion before hastening their walk away.
"It's not everyday you see Canterlot all roiled up like this," Eff Stop said, snapping a few shots at this building and that group of ponies waving their hooves about in heated arguments. "It's unusual. To think that Canterlot is this calm and sophisticated place—to watch it all break down. Well, I wouldn't really say it's breaking down..."
Then, he looked to his side. No Press Release beside him.
"Press Release?" he asked.
And a glimpse of that mare entering an eatery of some sorts; there were tables filled with munching ponies past the narrow and tall windows.
The hatted pegasus looked up.
A sign of a big donut in pink icing.
Checkered patterns were under the windows and were on the floor of this place, with the floor looking like a chessboard. Pink tables and stools in pink fabric littered the eatery as ponies had platefuls and paper bag-fuls of donuts in front of them, their variety of colors matching the ponies' own. Lights were hanging from the ceiling on thick wires though they were not on now.
It smelled of sweets and sugar.
At the far end was the counter with its glass display of donuts of many different flavors: plain donuts, glazed donuts, chocolate donuts, strawberry donuts, peanut donuts; hole donuts or whole donuts, donuts with filling or donuts wihout filling, donuts or not donuts for there were bagels, too.
Sitting at the counter, on one of the swivel chairs, was Press Release.
Joe, the bulky unicorn donned in his white uniform and white hat—his cutie mark being a donut with pink icing—floated a plate of assorted donuts right in front of her. "Here you go, ma'am," he said in a rough voice, tinged with sombre.
"Thanks," she said as she grabbed the topmost donut—a plain one—and took a bite out of it.
Joe went on to another pony a bit far away along the counter.
Eff Stop sat right beside her, swiveling a little on his chair to face her completely. "Took no care to tell me, huh?"
She gulped the morsel down. She groaned. "Sorry, Eff Stop."
"Pressured, I know," he said. "But, remember: Hope that it will blow off soon and everything will be fine." He then took a donut from her plate.
Press Release rested her hoof on an angled hoof. "I know it's going to be fine, but..."
"But what?" He leaned forward, an expectant expression on him.
Press Release levitated the camera off of her neck. She plopped it on the counter, beside the donuts.
"Nevermind," she ended up saying, floating another donut to her face and examining it. She broke off a crumb. "What's the use of telling you the same thing?"
Eff Stop did not say anything.
The two remained silent as they munched on their donuts.
"You sure you'll be ready for Celestia's speech at sunset?" he asked.
"I hope a stroll's enough to get me up and going," she said.
"A walk in the park?" he offered, extending a hoof.
She smiled—a little. "Maybe after the donuts." Then, a giggle from her.
He smiled, too.
As they went on eating donuts, three unicorns at a table were eating donuts, too.