Long Shot could see it all.
Down there was Manehattan Park. The clean, crisp rivers and streams winded and bended, littled curved bridges punctuating them every so often. Parklights illuminated the grass and paths as the streetlights illuminated the roads and streets; instead of carriages, they were mostly ponies. Above them, some flying and glowing figures of different shapes and sizes.
"Glow in the dark kites!" she said, pushing her face up to the wall. "I've never seen one this up close before."
Grabbed her camera, brought it up to her eye, opened the window.
Letting the cool night breeze in, her mane flipping about.
A knock on the door.
"Oh! Hold up!"
Long Shot scrambled to her hooves as she ran on the bare wooden floor and past a table and a mirror on the yellow wall.
Opened the door.
The plump figure of Mr. Stripes.
"Wait..." Long Shot furrowed her brows. "Aren't you...?"
"Yes," was his concise answer, his cheeks marked with dried tear brooks. "You may not have caught my name in chaos, but I am also landlord here." Sniffed. "You are good mare...good pony. But, no one can't do anything about her."
Long Shot's eyes went left and right. "I'm...I'm s-sorry that you lost a valuable tenant."
"No need to be sorry," Mr. Stripes said. "You did not do anything bad to her. You only came at bad time." A strained groan.
Long Shot observed his ruffled mane and mustache.
"Thank you for caring for Rarity," he said. "Not even her friend, and yet..."
Words off.
"Enjoy your night here."
Door closing.
"Tonight's free of charge....Don't ask. You know."
Door shut.
Long Shot stayed there for several seconds, stunned.
The next morning, inside a diner and in front of a table of savory mushroom soup, bread, and soda, she wrote some almost unreadable lines on her notepad.
The buzz around her was decent. Discussions everywhere, with some words repeated more so than others: "war", "battle", "invasion", "threat", "safe", to name five of some.
Then, a flyer slapped on to the table.
Long Shot turned her head up, seeing the offending pony who had done the deed. "You know that's rude." Switched her hat forward.
Face to face with a three-suited stallion. "Well, well, well. Aren't you the kind of pony that the Countess is looking for right now?"
Long Shot cleared her throat. "You mean Countess Coloratura?"
Svengallop nodded.
Murmurs and whispers rose around in the diner, catching the attention of both eater and staff.
He tugged at his red tie. "If you care to read the flyer, you'd know that the Countess herself is in town—and, may I say, one of the best towns to have as a popstar's venue. And," pushing a hoof on the reporter's hat, leaning over the table which included the hot bowl of soup, "you're a journalist, are you not?"
Long Shot nodded, her mouth trembling.
"Then, you get half off at ticket prices," he announced. "If you have your associates in the vicinity, get them up. She needs as much coverage as possible to send her skyrocketing off the charts!"
The reporter gulped. "I'm the only one I know staying here. My friends have their job at the front."
"Pshaw!" Svengallop gestured with a hoof, showing disdain. "I'll have you know, miss, that I've personally asked for an entire reserve regiment to be in attendance. Do you know why?"
"No, I don't...?"
"Because they need the encouragement!" Svengallop replied, slanting himself more forward. "Unlike her usual tours, this one will incorporate wartime ditties—get them riling up at a fever pitch to go and fight!" He raised a hoof in the air, displaying an awkward grin.
Now, more than half of the diner were watching him. The rest were watching the bowl of soup he and his fine suit was hanging over.
"Soon," he spoke, rising in volume, "the Countess would not only sing for the masses...no, she would also sing for the war effort! She would lift the mood of every bridgade, nay, every corps that could be amassed in all of Equestria! Then, when it all ends, she would be cited as a hero in her own right without having to fire a single arrow or otherwise hurt a single pony, for by the lyrics that she sings with her beautiful voice, she will—"
And fell over, throwing the bowl up in the air.
Splat on his face, covering his head in mushroom soup.
"Ooh!'s" from the audience as they stepped back, away from the tripped Svengallop.
Long Shot scarfed down her bread and softdrink and stood up. "Do you need a hoof?"
Svengallop rolled his eyes. "I'd prefer succulent éclairs, thank you very much."
At Manehattan Park, a crowd was gathering, overflowing to the sidewalks and flooding the pathways. Benches were not enough for those who could not stand...standing for a long time; some brought foldable chairs. One pony in particular, who had a chair for a cutie mark, brought only a red button. He pushed it and out of the button unfolded a line of chairs connected to each other by a metal rod.
Several of the park's paths were knee deep in Countess Coloratura merchandise and its hawkers who could be identified by their attire that had no color other than purple, pink, blue, and black. Their wares included, beside the Countess's albums: hats, shirts, perfume, fans, paint cans, biographies, autobiographies, flags, figurines, dolls, fake wigs, pre-signed photographs, hay burgers, and chocolate bars.
On the concert grounds, a swarm of ponies though most of them were equipped in armor and with weapons. Most of them had uniform coat colors, too—white ponies, gray ponies, blue ponies. Like the rest of the fanatical crowd around them, they were not backing down in enthusiasm; in fact, several of them swapped out their helmets for Coloratura hats.
On the vast stage, the only ponies obviously present were the musicians, tweaking and testing and tuning their instruments. Behind the scenes, backstage ponies soundchecked and talked in secret code with others.
Then, smoke filled the stage.
The crowd went silent.
A shrouded silhouette appeared from within.
The crowd went wild, thrusting their screams of her name to the wind. Hooves stretched, reaching out to her. Bouquets of flowers delivered via throw to the stage while the unicorn musicians levitated the bouquets out of sight.
Coloratura alone at the front of the stage, the smoke subsided and gone, revealing her long hair, her glitzy and flashy suit, and her thick-eyebrowed face behind a thin black veil.
"Everypony."
And the crowd went silent again.
They could hear the carriages, the stomping carriages with their loud thuds on the asphalt.
"Welcome...welcome to the first show of 'Coloratura's Extravaganza on the Front'!"
The crowd went wild again.
"But..."
The crowd went silent once again.
"Before I begin," she continued, "I would like to thank you, all of you, for coming here...because I know that you didn't come here just to see me." A pause, changing her view a little to the left. "You came here for something more important. You came here to support these patriotic soldiers," motioning a hoof toward the armored ponies on the grass.
And the crowd cheered for the soldiers who replied with waves and shouts of their own. A few near the rest of the audience hugged their family and friends before parting a meter or so.
"They're brave enough to do the most dangerous task of the war: Carrying it out, risking life and limb to ensure our safety." A pause. "It would be mean to not give them anything back."
The crowd hushed down to a piercing quiet.
"So...to inspire you, first and foremost, noble warriors..."
An enormous flag hung down from the top of the stage.
A banner, sky blue in background. Thirty-nine stars surrounding two alicorns—one dark blue, one light white. These alicorns surrounded the sun and the moon at the center of the flag.
Coloratura drew in breath, facing the crowd.
A piano's spiralling notes.
Equestria, the land I love,
A land of harmony.
Our flag does wave from high above
For ponykind to see.
Drum roll, strings and brass swelling.
Ponies singing along.
Equestria, a land of friends
Where ponykind do roam.
They say true friendship never ends;
Equestria, my home!
All was then silent.
Seconds passed.
Everypony erupted into approving roars and shouts, stomping the ground with cheer and mirth.
As Coloratura stood still, viewing the mass of ponies in that loyal fervor—that mass increasing as more ponies flocked from the sidewalks and across the avenues and boulevards.
"OK, before I do the next song," Coloratura declared, her voice booming through the speakers, "I would like to tell you a little history behind it..."
While she explained, a white pegasus pony with curly and wavy mane—resembled clouds on her head—passed by the park, walking on the sidewalk but never setting hoof onto it. She saw lots of ponies with cameras, taking pictures of the Countess on stage, including a casually capped Earth pony.
"Ma'am," Svengallop said at a crossing, hoofing out a flyer to her, "what about contributing some bits to the cause and have fun while doing so? 'Coloratura's Extravaganza on the Front' is having its debut—"
"That's OK," she said in a reserved manner. "I'm fine."
Off she disappeared into a moving crowd of ponies.
"What do you want to talk about again?"
The pegasus sat on a chair at a small table. On the other side was another pegasus: Silver Script.
Around them, in the apartment room that smelled of fresh paint, the same celebrity memorabilia: posters, autographs, other such things. Some new ones had cropped up, though, including a picture with a wounded Rainbow Dash snarling at Star Tracker—who was pouring buckets of sweat down his face while failing to keep up a smile for the camera.
On the table: a bunch of paper, a quill, and an inkwell.
"I only want your opinon," Silver Script said. "That's all."
"But I'm not a sci-fi fan," the mare responded, moving her hoof about. Nervous. "I didn't even read 'Alien Alicorns vs. Space Pirates'. I only know sci-fi has lasers, spaceships...aliens..."
Script let out a chuckle. "I'm not asking you for the sci-fi part of my story. I know more than enough to fill that up. What I'm asking you to talk about—"
Raised an eyebrow
"—is your, hm, controversial opinion on the war."
He clasped his forehooves.
"That's all."