//------------------------------//
// A Continuation of Autumn 
// Story: A War 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

It was sunset; the sky was an orange pink.
A brown Earth pony entered the small bookstore by the street.
"Ah, a modest establishment!" Quibble said, looking around and beholding the shelves. "This is my first time here, ma'am." His eyes rested on the librarian.
The smiling librarian. "Oh, hi!" She looked at his clothes. "I'll fancy a guess: a fan of Daring Do, no?"
"Kind of obvious, but...yeah." He nodded and smiled back.
"Looking to complete your collection?" she asked, her horn glowing. "I've got copies of the full set plus, both mint condition and second-hoof. Are you looking for anything specific?"
"I'm looking to buy the first three books," he replied, turning his head toward the shelves at the back. "A friend's in need of it."
"'In need'?"
She groaned and rubbed her head.
"Oh, no. You're one of the fanatic fans, aren't you?"
"If I have a good reason to be fanatic, then I accept it!" Quibble retorted, glaring at her. "If he starts with the newest book, he might think that the whole Daring Do set's boring and nonsense! I've gotta protect him from that notion."
"And protect him from you?" the librarian asked, smirking while raising an eyebrow.
Quibble rolled his eyes. "Pretty sour today, aren't you? Are you trying to cope with something?"
"Not really," she said as she levitated some Daring Do books from a nearby shelf. "That's who I am."
Quibble leered at her. "I can tell you're bluffing."
"Then, I must be a really good bluffer."
"You're not outright admitting it."
"I can't admit what I haven't done."
"One way to tell a lie is to merely suggest it, and you're doing just that."
"What if you're wrong?"
"What if you're wrong?"
"We're going to get into circles if we keep on arguing like this."
Floated the books right in front of his face.
"Fantastic, no?" the librarian finally said, smirking again. "Now, give me the bits, say 'Goodbye' to me, and leave this bookstore."
Quibble sweated, grabbing his books. "Uh, OK?"



The librarian squished her face against the window, seeing the dark nighttime landscape pass by her in a flash. The moon stayed in its place, and so were the many stars in the sky.
Across the aisle, on the other side and under the same dazzling lights, was a sleek-maned businesspony and a yellow pegasus guard in unique armor—there was a blue star on the front and an attached blue mini-cape over his torso.
"It's artisan," that businesspony, Filthy Rich, said. "All of them are hoof-crafted, hoof-carved, hoof-made. Nothing mass produced, nothing copied on the assembly line. It's made out of love and care."
The guard, Flash Sentry, laughed. "I don't know how I feel about that. I mean, I'll buy a spear from you made out of love and care...to neutralize my foes."
"I say to myself that this war is becoming drab and stressful. I thought to myself, 'Is there any way to help my fellow Equestrians who put their lives on the line for us petty civilians?'"
"Then, you hit up on the customized weapons idea," Flash guessed.
Filthy straightened his tie. "It's completely safe. Except for the Crystals, that is. That's besides the point, though—I could take your order now. Tell me everything: what kind, what color, when do you want to get it...everything you want!"
Flash took off his helmet, revealing the blue mane underneath. "Are you alright with it? You know that they're cracking down on suits like you who sell weapons to the average pony."
"I don't sell to average ponies," Filthy countered. "I don't sell to just anypony. I make sure that they're not part of any suspicious-lookin' group who could undermine the Princesses and their good work."
"Still, what if they don't tell you? Deceive you?"
"They're abusing my trust, then." Filthy crossed his forelegs.
The librarian eyed their reflections on her window.
"Those scoundrels," he went on, growling a little. "Others justify it by telling themselves that they aren't part of their revolutions. I say that I want no part of them. No radical ideas. Why? I'm a simple pony whose hoof has been forced."
"How?" Flash prodded, tilting his head. "Whatever your specialty was disappeared when war got loose?"
"Not instantly, but it's in low quantity these days." Gazed out the window. "Zap Apple Jam's got less than a hundred jars worth. Lots of apple trees cut down. Instead, they're churning out jarred apple slices in sour syrup. No time for getting zap apples."
Flash breathed out. "That's bad. I don't remember hearing that before, but now I want to try it."
"Twenty bits."
Flash scooched an inch away. "That's worse!"



The mansion was a big one. Although it had the same village style as the other residences there—thatched and hay-roofed plus chimneys—this manor was larger than the rest of them. The stone columns and browning hedges on the expansive front yard were signs of opulence, not to mention the butlers and maids who were now serving as part-time gardenkeepers watering and trimming and mowing.
Filthy Rich trotted on the paved path, going his way to the staired entrance and opened the door.
To be met by the snooty pink face of his wife against the lights inside, her messy purple hair evident and clear.
"Honey!" she yelled. "Have you made any more customers?"
Filthy scratched the back of his head. "There's the regular—"
"I don't care about the guards!" Spoiled Rich roared. "We need to extend our corporate reach!"
"Look, honey," he said, mellowing his tone, "you're acting unreasonable! If I go any further, they'll be watching us!"
"Then, keep it secret!" Spoiled shouted.
"That would be dishonest!"
"You could donate more money to the cause that way, Filthy." She turned her head up. "Instead of waiting for guards to line up at your booths, wasting precious time and money in the process, there's always the everyday citizen! It is their duty to pay up for war taxes."
The butlers and maids stopped whatever they were doing and looked at the arguing couple.
"It's our duty, too!" Filthy replied. "We've been through this before! No selling to the average pony! Before we know it, we may have equipped an entire rebellion against the Princesses! That would be treasonous!"
Spoiled stomped the floor. "Be more careful! Ask them! Interview them! Interrogate them!"
"I'm a pony selling weapons, not some secret agent!"
"You might as well be one if you're so stubborn!"
"Wait, I—"
Slammed doors.
Lights out.
Alone at the stairtop.
And the hose was turned back on, the maid returning to her duty of watering the flowerbeds.
Doing her best to not look at her boss.



Morning in Ponyville.
With the school closed for the day, several foals played around on the surrounding grass, going back to chasing each other or playing catch or almost getting dizzy on the merry-go-round.
Diamond Tiara, wearing her crown, stood by the white fence. A good distance away from the active colts and fillies.
A gray filly walked up to her and stood beside Tiara. "I know that look."
Tiara glanced away. "I'm fine."
Silver Spoon placed a hoof on her shoulder. "You're not. What's wrong? We're best friends, remember?"
"It doesn't have anything to do with you," Tiara said, not facing her.
Silver tugged at her lock for a moment. "But, we could talk it out. Maybe I could help somehow."
"I don't see how you could help." A pause. Hesitation. "Sorry for that, but...I really don't see how."
"If you tell me what's going on, then you'll see how."
Tiara let out a sigh. "You know my Dad's in the business lately."
"You mean the business of dangerous weapons?" Silver asked. "Yeah. Is it getting to you?"
"M-My Mom's pushing him to stop restricting himself so much. She wants to cater the weapons to everypony we meet. If he...if he gets caught doing that...I know where he's going."
"Either in prison or the barracks."
Tiara nodded, lips shivering.
"Have you said anything to them?"
"No. How would I tell them? I don't know the in's and out's of Daddy's strange new job."
"You should try," Silver said, effecting a little smile.
Tiara sniffled.
Then, a rush, a blur past them.
The two saw the figure fading away from their sight, shrinking as the driving pony went farther.



Scootaloo drove on her scooter, helmet on.
She skidded at Sugarcube Corner, its brown sign of bread contrasted against the bright colors of the structure.
The filly walked her way inside and saw the bakery in a normal enough state. Not too crowded, not too roomy. Just enough customers.
She spotted a mare wearing glasses, eating some pie while reading a book beside it.
Scootaloo galloped to her and placed a hoof on the table. "Uh, miss? You look like a bookpony. Do you have lots of books?"
The mare nodded. "Actually, I own a bookstore in Canterlot. I'm...I'm taking a bit of a break."
"Can I come with you?" Scootaloo asked.
The librarian looked left and right. "Are your parents OK with that?"
Scootaloo grinned and nodded fast. "Yeah, I'm sure!"