//------------------------------//
// For the Cause 
// Story: A War 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

It was next week, Sunday, and Teddie Safari stood in the center of a dirt road surrounded by makeshift houses of broken walls, cracked paint, and hanging doors all in the process of reconstruction as repairponies were on the case, their trusty tool boxes beside them as they banged nails, turned screws, and fixed up broken old homes in minutes.
Farther on, the road led to an arid desert, the town on the frontier's verge.
She walked up to one of the repairponies who was throwing out some sawdust into a garbage bin. "Can you locate Flim and Flam's store on this map?" She tapped on the open map she held at hoof's length. "There's no legend. It's just a bunch of roads."
"Oh, it's, uh, that'a way!" The hard-hatted pony then pointed the opposite direction.
"Alright, thanks! My friend's sweltering under the heat, you see."
"Well, why did ya' go here in the first place, ma'am?" He got another box of sawdust and poured its contents out into the same bin.
"The tracks stopped here," Teddie replied. "So, we're here."
"Mighty suspicious." He stroked his mustache. "I don't suppose you intended to visit this here Laterack by chance, do ya'?"
"We encountered some nice salesponies back in Las Pegasus," she said before covering her ears as a construction pony revved up a power drill.
Deafening, then it stopped.
"After that, they told us that they were setting up shop in this very town. Also told us to not follow them because it was their opening day today and didn't want to ruin the surprise for us."
"How nice of 'em!" he said. Then, pointing at that direction again: "It's best ya' go on. We already have enough help as it is, so don't get yourself sweatin' on the small stuff...or, on the big stuff since houses are, uh, big."
Teddie muffled a giggle. "Thank you, sir!"
She turned around and headed to the center of town.



Both of the brothers' faces could be seen by the lightbulb on the otherwise empty table. A door loomed at the wall. Besides that, the place was rather barebones, just a table and a door and two chairs and some more cardboard boxes.
"What's the status, brother?" Flim asked. "You've got all the papers sorted out and ready?"
"Minimal paperwork!" Flam yelled in joy, stretching his hooves to the air and relaxing on the chair. "I didn't know how we pulled it off, but we did it! With the falsified attack on Las Pegasus, that's going to swing those poor ponies' opinions toward our side and our wallets! Plus, we carried all of our things here intact! How better off could we be?!"
"Oh, you of all ponies should know," Flim said, mimicking an evil laugh as he clasped his hooves on the table. "The hardest part is over like a bunch of dominos. We pushed the first one and the rest will fall into place. All we have to do is play our cards right, to remember the balance that we need to keep up."
"You're really catching on to this, Flim!" Flam remarked, adjusting his hat a bit. "That means we have enough of those potions lying around?"
"Enough to plunge all of Equestria into a state of emergency." He smirked, showing his sparkling teeth. "They're at the back with fresh new patented locks to ensure absolute safety and security."
"Don't want those falling into the wrong hooves, then?" Flam quipped. "Too bad, because I've ordered twenty more!"
Flim almost fell out of his chair. "How, brother of mine?!"
"Simple as writing a secret coded letter." It was now Flam who smirked, showing more sparkly teeth. "The contact knew what he was getting himself into, which says something about his qualms—or lack of them—regarding the whole scheme."
"He's getting a big chunk of the pie, isn't he?" Flim asked, narrowing his eyes and sounding heated, grabbing the edge of the table.
"If this becomes a runaway success, brother, even half a percent would give him a decent manor—which won't be useful anyway since he acts so frugallyl."
"Chances of him not wanting any bits out of this at all?" Flim prodded, clasping his hooves again and making another smirk.
"Almost certain," Flam said. Then, after exhaling some breath: "Wow! I realized how competent you could be, brother, when I let you do all the planning. You have a knack for this!"
"Thank you for the compliment!" Flim said, cheery. "By the looks of things, this may be our last job, our last con. We'll keep it up, keep it running, and as long as the war goes on, there'll always be inexplicable surprise attacks in big cities and there'll always be ponies who want to protect themselves with our protection-guaranteed 'Flim Flam Arms'!"
Flam laughed, smacking his hooves on the table. "Genius, brother, genius!"
Flim looked at his wristwatch. A gasp. "We're late! We should've opened five minutes ago!"
Flam said nothing as he pushed his chair out of the way and opened the door.
Flim followed suit, fixing up his bowtie without a hoof touching it.
The store itself was cleaner than the one in Las Pegasus. The checkered floors gave it a shabby feel, but the weapons that overwhelmed the aisles and the walls (and even the ceiling as a few spears hung on their pointed heads) more than made up for it. The new air-conditioning system gave the two brothers a cold blast, casuing Flim to say "Ahh!" as he spread his forehooves toward the ceiling and causing Flam to roll his eyes before resuming his smiling demeanor. Big price tags on select weapons had phrases such as "Best deal ever!", "Discounts won't ever go lower than this!", and "Arrows made of the finest metals that are sure to strike and incapacitate any would-be foe in less than one second!" This last one was put beside a display of arrows on a column. The plastic shafts had silver arrowheads that shone under the lights.
Standing outside the store were Teddie Safari, Fluttershy, and the orthos who was wagging his tail and lolling his tongues, eager to enter.
Fluttershy cocked her head, said some words that could not be heard past the closed glass doors.
"Whoops!" Flam shouted before he pressed a button below the counter. "Let me open that for you!"
The doors slid open.
They went inside, Safari mouthing expressions of wonder as she turned her head around at the mesmerizing sight of so many weapons in one place, Fluttershy mouthing expressions of terror as she turned her head dizzy at the questionable presence of so many weapons in one place. The orthos, meanwhile, stayed still though he still wagged his tail and also tapped his paw.
"Oh, I almost forgot!" Flam said as he rummaged through some papers and found blank parchment. He glanced at his brother who was about to attend to the store's first customers. "I'll take care of the Grand Pear letter. You take care of them."
Flim tipped his hat at his brother.
Safari walked up to him, Fluttershy tailing by and reduced to fearful eye flashes, backing away from the weapons only to come face-to-face with a whole different set of them.
"Why, isn't it our new pals, Teddie Safari and Fluttershy and their...dog." He shivered as he stared at the dog. "Brgh! Good thing we don't disallow pets here—well, good for you, but I'm not so sure about my own constitution!" He grabbed Safari by the neck. "How can I help you stay alive in these tumultuous times, misses?" Turned his head toward a wobbling Fluttershy. "Especially you, miss Fluttershy! You seem to be the type who needs some extra help to be afloat in today's world!"
Fluttershy gulped. "Uh, sir, um, I would like to thank you for the offer, but, um—Agh!" and jumped away from a spear, only to be pricked by an arrow.
Safari and Flim covered their mouths. Their irises shrunk.
"Oh, no!"
"I'm sorry for the inconvenience, ma'am."
They covered their ears.
"Aaoow!"



Grand Pear sat sorrowful in the carriage under the pouring rain at night, so late at night it was almost Monday. Pulled through green vistas of grass, flowers, and trees, he was on a bumpy ride as the road was damaged with some holes and breaks along with several large rocks. Yet, the driver never slowed down for one bit as he galloped, running against the elements and sometimes splashing some water on to his passenger.
Grand Pear did not complain. He only sighed, rotating the sealed envelope around.
Finally removed the seal and opened, retrieving the letter inside.
It was a short letter written in hasty hoofwriting as could be seen by the messy strokes and curls. However, the message could still be deciphered.
Grand Pear read it.
We've stumbled upon a gold mine of opportunity which we won't disclose for safety purposes. Because of this sudden development, we've foregone improving the farm ourselves and have instead hired outside contractors whom we've trusted very much for most of our business lives. It also makes some common sense, too: we can't single-hoofedly save the whole farm, not us two unicorns! We only agreed to supervise the improvements! Hopefully, you're standing in front of the new Pear family home right now and are flabbergasted at how plentiful your pears have become! You can save the congratulations for later when we get there, OK? OK!
The carriage halted, dousing the letter and him in water.
Thunder in the distance, rain hard on the vehicle's roof.
"We're here," the driver said, taking off his hat and squeezing the water out of it. He held up an open hoof. "That would be nine bits."
Grand Pear got off and exposed himself to the rain, but did not pay him the nine bits or any attention at all.
"Uh, mister? The nine bits, please."
He took a step forward closer to Pear family property, closer to the tended grass with their fields of tall pear trees, closer to the wet muddy soil.
"Mister Grand Pear, could you give me the nine bits, please?"
He saw the industrial lights coming out of what looked like a barn but was not, really. A refitted, repurposed structure it was: where chimneys puffed out long trails of white smoke as huge carriages with wagons attached were the final places where lines and lines of pear jams fell to from a conveyor belt—before they were covered, before the drivers whinneyed, before the jars began their journey to markets and stores.
"Mister! I need to go to other ponies who need a lift!"
A couple galloped to him, husband and wife running between the trees and the ladders. Their features could not be made clear through the growing storm, but he could see once more the freckles on their faces pelted with raindrops.
"Sir Grand Pear, what's going on?!" the husband shouted above the gale's clamor, holding on to his hat as it flapped under the wind. "The whole fam'ly tried kickin' some refurbushin' intruders out, but they said that they're your guys!"
Grand Pear's jaw dropped, his mouth producing sound but never forming a word.
"We know that your wishes should be respected!" the wife yelled, holding on to her hat as well. "But, are you sure about this?! After we've upheld all the good ol' principles of natural farmin'?!"
Tears mixed in rain.
Grand Pear raised an unsteady hoof. "I...I...Curd Spread, Pear Puree...I didn't...a-ask..."
His legs quivered.
Collapsed.
"Grand Pear!" All screamed as they, even the driver, rushed to the fainted stallion. Pear Puree brought out a fan, waved it in front of his closed-eyes face, waving faster as tears overflowed. Curd Spread placed a hoof on the neck, listening. The driver brought out an umbrella and covered everypony there.
"I'll take him to the nearest hospital!"
"You don't have to!" Curd Spread replied fast. "They haven't wrecked the family clinic—"
"I was about to tell you that they did!" Pear Puree shouted, covering her face in hooves, tears, sobs.
Curd Spread got the fan, brought it closer to him. He faced the driver, hysteric. "Take Grand Pear and the fan! I'll give you a hundred bits if you could make it to Appleloosa in time!"
"You don't have to!" the driver said.
He picked up the limp body, put it in his carriage, hooked himself to the vehicle, galloped away.
Leaving the couple to cry as they waved at a disappearing Grand Pear who did not see them say their goodbye's.



Braeburn watched the sunset from his house.
It was a beautiful thing, perhaps more so in dry hot Appleloosa where grass was scarce and hats were abundant. The sun dipped below the horizon, submerging the desert town in nighttime chill while the sky became purple. Everywhere went dimmer, and some buildings had their lights turn on the moment evening began since some ponies were so punctual as to time switching the lights on with the end of the day. The stars twinkled into view again and the moon, the full moon, rose up to take its place.
He dangled a forehoof through the open window, letting in the cool air into his home. "Applejack, I sure hope y'all are safe in Ponyville. You're gettin' me awful worried for ya'!"
A knock on the door.
"Who's that?!" he shouted out the window.
"Sheriff."
His head poked out. Braeburn could see Silverstar on the ground waving at him.
"I need to show you somethin'."



Wooden walls and carpeted floor. Short white beds, ponies covered. Lanterns lit the small premises, giving Braeburn and Silverstar enough light to see and navigate through the bed and breakfast establishment.
"Here," the sheriff said, walking to a bed where the old Grand Pear was sleeping.
Braeburn gasped and stepped back, staring at him with deranged eyes. "He's here?!" he shrieked as much as he could in a whisper. "Why?!"
"Got unconscious at the sight of his new 'farm'," Silverstar said, taking off his black hat. "Ain't a farm at all. Duped into lettin' some lowlifes own more than half the pear fields. Now his family bu'iness's down in the dumps, lowlifes makin' all the bits they could make out of it, and Grand Pear himself...isn't in good condition."
Braeburn looked again at that pony. His eyes were closed as he continued sleeping on the bed, not knowing what was going on.
"But, there's somethin' else," Silverstar said, facing Braeburn with a piercing glare.
"What else could there be, sheriff?" Braeburn replied, dumbfounded as he took more steps back. "This is astonishin' news, bad news!"
Silverstar put his hat back on his head. "As I brought him here, he told me to tell you something important."
Braeburn caught breath in his throat. "Me? A Pear tellin' an Apple?"
The sheriff pawed the ground. "He told me to tell ya'...that your fam'ly shouldn't fall for their tricks, too, whoever they may be. Have anypony in mind?"
A hesitant pause, head toward the floor. His lips trembled. "Well, the Oranges got things straightened out," Braeburn said, his voice shaky. "Half-Baked Apple's smarter than he looks so I don't think they'll get to him. Applejack's—" and gasped. "Applejack!"
He stormed out of the room.
"Where are ya' goin'?!" the sheriff cried out.
"I've gotta warn my folks in Ponyville!"
His steps faded. Silverstar heard a door slam shut.



"But, Mayor Mare, ya' can't do that!" Applejack shouted, fear injected in her words, blocking the white gateway to Sweet Apple Acres.
A wooden apple sign hung over her head, and so did the night sky of fresh apple field air.
"We promise that we'll tear down any machinery we add once the need has been satisfied," Mayor Mare said, closing her eyes and speaking in a bit of a haughty voice, standing in front of a team of construction workers with their hard hats and vests ready. "It's for the good of all Equestria."
"Then we'll work harder than ever before!" Applejack answered. "I can't let you taint the way we've always done apple farmin' here! In case ya' forgot Ponyville history, it was the Apples who built it up the Apple way! Our apples won't be the same if you can 'em up and ship 'em out like there's no tomorrow by cold and heartless machine thingies!"
One of the construction ponies pawed the ground, about to pounce.
Mayor Mare gave him a mean look. "No need for intimidation, Hard Hat."
Applejack pawed the ground, too, eyeing him dead on. "It's a fight you're askin', huh?"
The mayor jumped in between the two. She stretched her hooves out to each of them. "We can't settle an agreement if we descend into punches and kicks!"
"There won't be agreein' to do if yer' asking me to throw away centuries of fam'ly traditions that make the best quality apples in the world!" She planted her hoof in the dirt.
"You'd be cementing a better tradition where you'll tell your grandfoals how you helped Equestria win the war against a power-hungry tyrant!" Mayor Mare cried.
"And let them know the shameful things I've done to help 'em win?!"
She slapped a hoof on her face. "It's not shameful. It's only temporary, anyway. Bear with a Sweet Apple Acres factory for a while, and you can destroy it once the war's done."
"Well, it is shameful, thank you very much!"
The mayor shook her head. "Applejack, you and your family have been very valuable ponies to us. But, I have to be honest with you: You're mighty stubborn."
"Maybe it's because I ain't budgin' from the love of my work!" Applejack roared, throwing dirt into the air. "We may be Earth ponies, but, I have to be honest with ya', too! Do you have any idea about how we Apples take care of what we sow and harvest?"
"You know better than that!" Mayor Mare said, pouting.
A blue hoof tapped on her shoulder.
"Look, mayor," Hard Hat said, "if she's not moving, so be it. We'll find other ways of convincing her."
The mayor shook her head again. "No." She turned to him. "She must do this out of her own volition."
"'Volition'? Right..." Applejack stepped forward. "You're forcin' me to churn out canned apples—and sour apples at that!—and, if I don't say 'Yes', you'll be remindin' me of my 'guilt' and 'shame'!" She crossed her forelegs. "When I say 'No', I say 'No!'"
"Don't, Applejack!"
Everypony turned their heads.
Braeburn panting. "I've been sent here to tell ya' to not give up the farm to anypony else! They'll change it into somethin' dreadful!"
"Oh, you must be Applejack's cousin," the mayor said, mellowing her tone.
"Yes, ma'am, I am," Braeburn said. He made a perplexed expression. "But, why are you tellin' her to scrap the way they've been doin' things 'ere for years?"
"It's not 'scrapping'; it's 'substituting'," she replied. "It's for the cause. The more industries we redirect toward the war effort, the sooner we end this war and the sooner everypony can be relieved."
"There are boundaries, mayor!" Applejack yelled. She faced Braeburn. "Why don't ya' knock some sense to her jumbled head?!"
"Even I don't think that's a good idea, cousin!" Braeburn said, backing away. "I-I didn't know that the mayor was the conpony all along!"
"I'm no swindler!" she said. "Augh!"
Silence. Under the night sky. In front of Sweet Apple Acres.
The ponies breathed heavily, eyeing each other with tense looks.
Mayor Mare closed her eyes. "I see that there's no reasoning with you." She turned away. "If I may add one last word, however: Remember Rarity and the sacrifice she and her family made."
A pause.
Applejack gritted her teeth.
"You wouldn't want her to hear the news that you've laxed, that you aren't putting in your best for Equestria. Poor Rarity. Her mother is running a bakery for the soldiers, her father is a soldier himself, and she's facing pressure to give up her only living boutique to work inside a uniform facility.
"Imagine that, Applejack. She would be toiling with blood, sweat, and tears, making sure every single soldier is clothed so that they can work more efficiently, so that they can conduct warfare more efficiently. Wouldn't word get around, then, when she becomes devastated at your complacency, considering that each can of apples not made is a soldier closer to starvation?
"You're a dependable pony. Everypony's counting on you to do your job. Ponyville citizens do something for the war effort everyday."
That mayor's eyes welling up.
"We are makin' more than enough apples without your fancy-schmancy whatchamacallit's!" Applejack screamed. "If we give up our sweet apples in exchange for sour ones—"
"Then, they'll get more apples, more food," the mayor interrupted. "You know that a sour apple tree produces lots more than a sweet apple tree."
"Yes, mayor, but—"
"Which means that if you insist on being stubborn and sticking to your traditions in such a time as this, then you're robbing many of our warriors of full stomachs."
The construction ponies nodded.
"Don't listen to her!" Braeburn said.
"Before you call me unfeeling," the mayor said, close to a choked voice, "think about what I have to go through on a daily basis since the war started. I've had to make tough calls about what to do with this pony or with that group. When the first batch of Ponyville volunteers headed out, I talked with ponies like Cheerilee to do one-and-a-half jobs to make up for our loss. We extended our hospitality to refugees from more than just Vanhoover, and our hospital's been packed and our doctors and nurses have been working overtime ever since...not to mention that the Golden Oak Library is half-full of new inhabitants every week. The Cakes themselves are transitioning their confectionary bakery into an ordinary one so they could send even more food to the front.
"The point is, I see the big picture, and we have to make compromises if we can get out of this ordeal the best way possible."
Braeburn held his breath.
Applejack lowered her hat.
Walked to the mayor.
"Applejack," she continued, "I'm sorry if I stressed you out and if it seemed like I was trying to manipulate you, but...it's not easy. I'm handling ponies' lives, ponies' futures, in my hooves. Concentrating on that, thinking about the ramifications..."
An orange hoof on her shoulder.
"I'll sleep on it, mayor."
"No!" whispered Braeburn, stretching a hoof out to her.
The two cousins met eyes.
She nodded at him before she trotted her way to the barn.
"No..."
The construction ponies left, trotting their way home.
"Too bad she forgot to stay to hear my 'Thank you'," the mayor commented before sighing. She looked at Braeburn. "I'm sure you have her best wishes at heart, but, the truth is that this is her best wish. Everypony's got to give up something for the war. I know I have."
She trotted away, too.
Braeburn was alone, staring at Sweet Apple Acres under the blue tint of the night, the roof glimmering with the moonlight.