//------------------------------//
// An Assistant's Sweater 
// Story: A War 
// by Comma Typer 
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Back at Canterlot, inside that small bookstore, the librarian closed her large tome entitled "The Bay of Liberty" which reeked of eons. She yawned, and then snuffed the candle on the counter, engulfing the whole place in darkness touched only by the shimmering and shivering streetlights of a quiet, perhaps silent, road.
With that, she took off her glasses.
A door creaked open.
The librarian quickly put them back on, a cautious step forward. "Oh, it's you. I forgot that you were in there."
A shy laugh from the shrouded figure at the door. "Heh. Yeah. Sorry about that."
She laughed back, muffled and muted. "Up for another midnight coffee break at the Granule Café?" Another yawn. "I'm gonna go give the keys to you." A pause. "Are you wearing your sweater?"
"I certainly am!"
"Good, very good." She walked to the door and opened it, letting in a rush of cool air—rattling her teeth. "I'll be cleaning up your room before I leave." Her horn glowed, a yellow magical candle of its own, illuminating the bookstore though dimly and lighting up her green face. She looked at him intently. "Remember to be careful out there. I don't want you to get trampled down by a street of rioters."
He shuddered. "They're getting intense, aren't they?"
"Anything to keep a semblance of order, sanity, and...normalness." Took up some breath. "What's the number one rule when going outside here in Canterlot?"
"Avoid tourists at all costs," he repeated.
She smiled.
"Careful, Crystal Hoof."



Lines of cermaic cups on a long wooden counter.
These cups had pieces of fine paper on them, where small batches of wet ground coffee were set. Tiny drops of that caffeinated beverage dripped from the filter to the stagnant yet fragrant, rejuvenating, drink in each.
An aproned barista levitated a cup, mostly finished, to Crystal Hoof who sat on a swivel chair at the counter. After removing the filter, there it was: a cup of black coffee.
His blue forehooves clasped the warm cup, letting him feel its heat against the coffeehouse's air-conditioning. He fixed the little hat on his head, bunching up some of his black and blue mane inside it before going back to his order, comfortable in his blue sweater.
The Granule Café viewed itself as a pioneer of some bygone decade. Some square wooden columns stood out, providing the coffee shop a sense of scale—though little. Old photos of delighted customers and baristas together, sharing the picture and the time, filled the noticeboard where yellowing notes of appreciation, satisfaction—thank you's—continued to age. Fitting the columns, the floor was made of wood and so were the tables and chairs. On these sat a smattering of patrons, chatting much and sipping their coffee not so much. Behind the counter were two baristas, one mare and one stallion, below some chalkboards detailing the menu of the day and in front of some coffee machines and stacks of paper filters. These were under dull ceiling lights.
The defining smell of the coffeehouse? That scent of coffee.
Outside, a quiet and gloomy road with lonely streetlights.
Crystal Hoof took a little gulp of his cup.
Bitterly dark.
"...but, how could you tell a shiny one by their eyes if you can't see them?" he overheard a high-falutin voice say.
He turned his head a bit, just enough that the pony and his friends were in his sights.
"I mean, they're all green," the voice rambled on, belonging to a lanky yellow unicorn sporting a bushy purple mustache. "A ghastly color for the entire eye, though rare, indeed, in a normal pony from my experience."
"Of course, they're all green," one of his companions said—none other than professor Top Marks. A sniveling guffaw, almost slapping his knee. "Well, not all of them are green, that's what I assume and know. It's common knowledge that it's the helmets that make them look green."
"But," Sweet Biscuit, a cream-colored unicorn, interjected—raising a hoof, "don't we have pictures of the Crystal ponies before this whole war and the brainwashing and the mind control, right?"
"Which is of no good use to any of us except to see who's telling the truth," the lanky unicorn said, fixing his purple tie.
"They would be awful at disguises," Sweet Biscuit reasoned. "They would have to remove those helmets first."
"Just you wait, miss," that lanky pony replied, putting both of his hooves on the table—and a drip of coffee splashed on to the table. "If we don't win this war soon, they will only get better at whatever secret skills they are training. I would not be surprised if one of them is the art of espionage itself."
"That would mean finding a way to control ponies without the helmets," she said further.
He raised an eyebrow. Looked at Top Marks. "What do you think?"
"It's a proposition that's been thrown around for some time," the professor answered, rubbing his head as he thought. "Now, however, nopony is sure about where it stands. For all we know, it might not be worth the time and effort to invest in, even for a powerful pony like Sombra. Even if it is worth them, he is simple to a fault: he wants the downfall of Equestria and nothing else, and he wants it immediately. He's not willing to wait for the perfect time, so, from his point of view: Why think about a better way to deceive when...he doesn't have to?" Shrugged his shoulders and floated his coffee to his mouth.
A bit of silence as the other two sipped their coffees as well.
Crystal Hoof kept to himself, looking back on his cup.
"Too much of a good thing," the lanky unicorn began, "is a bad thing. A word of wisdom that I could glean from you, professor."
"But, I wasn't the one who said that—"
"I did not word it the same way as others have done," he interrupted. "I know the usual saying is different, but I do not care to think about that for now. What matters at the moment is that we're here safe and sound, away from that grim danger." A fancy-sounding snicker. "That does not mean that I'm ignorant of the dangers that lurk even in our fair capital. It is, indeed, safer here, but there are threats to one's well-being in Canterlot, too, because of this war...even in this very café."
Crystal Hoof sipped his coffee again. Hooves shaky.
"I'm an interior designer by trade," that lanky unicorn resumed. "As the name of my profession should state clearly, I design building interiors. However, during my tenure in that field, I've developed a competence in astute observation. In other words, I'm good at reading ponies, knowing that they're subtly affected by the environment around them—including the environment inside."
Crystal Hoof took another sip, a bigger one.
"But, you don't need my history to tell that, here in Granule Café, we have an unordinary pony in our midst."
Sweat pouring down Crystal Hoof's face.
A drip down to his coffee.
"Sweet Biscuit," that pony continued, facing her, "I've heard rumors that Crystal ponies' eyes are slightly different from ours. Their...shall we say, sparkle is like that of a, hm, crystal. Many sides, not exactly curved."
"That is true," Top Marks said. "Although...I don't know exactly where you're going with this, Dandy Grandeur. Are you saying that the only other pony in this place is a Crystal pony?"
Crystal Hoof drank the rest of his coffee in one go.
Dandy Grandeur smirked. "I should be expecting that kind of question from a smart professor like you, sir."
And Crystal Hoof stood up and brisked his way out the coffee house.



Reached the bookstore with curtains drawn inside. Still late night, too early in the next day's morning.
Dragged the key out of a pocket. Jangled the door open.
Slammed it shut, locked it.
Staggered to the back door.
Unlocked it.
Entered and slammed it shut.
Slumped to the floor in his half-furnished bedroom of one bed, one shelf, and some books.
Gasping, panting for air.
Then, his whole body engulfed in a blue glow.
Gone was the Crystal pony. In his place, a buggy, hole-infested, fanged changeling.
"They almost got me," Thorax muttered to himself, resting on the door. "They...almost got me..."
Silence. Save for his hushed breathing.