//------------------------------//
// Encountering a Fluke 
// Story: A War 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

Closed the windows.
Locked the door.
Pinned Trixie against the wall.
Her wizard's hat fell.
"Hiding in plain sight?" Yearling said, rough—gnashed her teeth, pressing Trixie's forelegs on the wall. "Living as a traveling magician? Impressing ponies with your magic tricks? I should've known you were right under our noses all along!"
"Uh, I w-wasn't trying to hide!" Trixie squeaked out. "I didn't commit any felony—at least, not on purpose!"
"Where's your wardrobe?" Yearling asked.
"You want to steal my magician costume?"
"No! I'm looking for your cloaks!"
"I d-don't have any right now!" Trixie replied, shaking her head fast. "Are you some kind of a cloak cop or what?! I didn't know Canterlot had literal fashion police—"
"OK, what about your books?!"
"Books?!" Trixie gulped. "But, I don't have many books! Look, Miss Y-Yearling, if you want the Great and Powerful Trixie to buy your books, then this is not the best way—"
"'Rivers and Streams', Trixie!" Yearling yelled, releasing her grip. "That book! The one you told me about! Where is it?!"
Trixie screamed, then scampered to a little shelf on the wooden wall over her bed by the window, and threw a book at her.
Yearling caught it with her hoof.
Examined the cover.
Broke it open, flipped through the pages.
Closed it.
Adjusted her glasses.
"Did you finish the book?" Yearling asked, putting it inside her cloak.
"Yeah," Trixie said, slow from halfway across the one and only room. "I told you I finished it over the winter."
Yearling rubbed her head, making sick faces. "Alright, alright...we're still fine, we're still OK..."
Trixie tiphoofed to her. "What are you talking about? You sound crazy for an author—I mean, I'm assuming many writers go crazy because they have to hold all these threads and arcs together, and, you know—"
"Will you be quiet?!" Yearling shouted, almost flinging her glasses across the wagon. "You don't know what you're talking about, because..."
Took a deep breath.
"Well...you're definitely not the pony I'm looking for," Yearling said, wiping the sweat off of her face, facing Trixie with an apologetic look. "But, I need to take this book away from you. You know the gist of it? The contents? Did you cast any of the spells contained within?"
"I did some of the very basic ones on a couple of old clocks," Trixie replied, putting on a smug smile and picking up her hat. "I could do chrono spells now! Isn't that going to make the Great and Powerful Trixie a worthy rival for anypony who seeks my profession?"
"Don't!" Yearling cried out, reaching a hoof out to her—despairing. "Do your best to forget it!"
"Why, exactly?" Trixie asked. "It's not like I'll cast it on ponies. I don't have enough time to train for that."
"Then, that's good!" Glanced at the closed door, then back at her. "Listen. There's a unicorn roaming around Equestria. I have no idea who she is—all I know is that she's a unicorn. She has a copy of this book and...well, she also wears a cloak, so she's trying to keep everything about her secret. What does she want? I don't know, but it can't be good—why would she be hiding if it wasn't bad?"
Trixie was silent, looking at the writer with bewildered eyes.
"I'll burn the book. It's the only way to be sure it won't fall into the wrong hooves."
Yearling ran out of the wagon.



That daring author galloped past an open square where carts and stalls marketed their wares to the folks passing by. Ignoring their calls to buy their amazing products, she dashed, making sure to keep her violet cloak intact about her.
"Kites!" a voice called out. "Kites at astounding prices! We're half-off today and for today only!"
"No, thank you!" she shouted back before running away from the salespony's sight.
That salespony of kites looked back at the toys he was selling.
There were numerous kites in stock. Regular kites with their recgonizable diamond shapes, smaller and economical square kites for those in a budget, special kites sporting complicated designs which could cover half of a home's roof and provide enough shade for a dozen ponies. They all flew high in the sky, tied up to the wooden columns supporting his stall where he kept his cash and change.
The salespony himself was white in coat and white in hair. His blue eyes glimmered in the sunlight and past his glasses. He donned a white hat and a black mustache.
Sugar Belle, with her curly mane, trotted up to him, carrying a saddle bag with her—smiling. "So, I would like to buy a kite shaped like a diamond."
"You need to specify which one, ma'am," the salespony said, adjusting his hat a little. "I can't just give you anything."
"The one that looks all broken," she said, pointing to a shabby kite fixed up with lots of nails.
It flew erratically, always about to fall but then picking up speed at the last second.
"Strange choice," he said as he untied the kite from the table and gave the string to her. "So, how's your monocle collection going?"
"It just arrived," she said, keeping up her smile while levitating the string. "It's even on a carriage."
"Fancy, hm?"
She nodded. "Yeah. It's very fancy. Later, I'll bring my friends to the party—no tuxedos, though."
"Everyone's invited?"
"Yes. No one's being left out."
He nodded. "Good to hear. Am I still welcome to the party?"
"You'll be the one to kick it off, remember?"
"Oh."
"Don't be so forgetful," she said.
He nodded once more.
"Lovey-dovey," whispered Sugar Belle.
She left, carrying the kite with her.
"Fancy Pants riding on a carriage," he whispered to himself, eyeing the big book underneath one of the shelves in the stall.
Communal Harmony: An Anarchist Manifesto by Starlight Glimmer
He grabbed the sign resting beside it and dropped it on the stall.
The sign read: "Closed".
Double Diamond took off his glasses, his hat, and his fake mustache, threw them into a garbage bin, and ran out of the square.



Sugar Belle trotted down the sidewalk, passing by several houses and stopping by the staircase to another house, looking at the lethargic yet elegant carriage of yellow and white.
That carriage, pulled by a single pony as if he was only strolling, held two unicorns. The stallion was Fancy Pants, attired in his usual black suit and purple bowtie along with his spiffy monocle; the mare was Fleur de Lis, with her long and graceful  pink mane complementing her white coat.
Sugar Belle heard a jangle from behind her.
"Why, hello!" Minuette said, trotting down the stairs with Lyra and Twinkleshine while she grinned. "You must be new here, 'cause you don't ring a bell."
Sugar Belle laughed. "Funny. It should ring a bell because my name is Sugar Belle."
"Really?!" She looked up. "So, what's that? Your kite?"
"It looks kind of bad," Twinkleshine remarked. "You had this for how long?"
Sugar Belle giggled. "I only bought it a minute ago. I'm testing it out—is it too heavy or too light? Besides, I know the pony who gave it to me. He's not sour over refunds, so if it's bad, I'll just give it back to him. Also—" glanced at the carriage "—do you have any kites or any kite-flying friends? Because, he set up shop only a week ago, and he's not in a good spot. Lots of mean ponies want to steal his kites and his ideas, so they—"
The three ponies at the stairs gasped.
"Sugar Belle!" Minuette yelled, pointing to the sky. "You let go of your kite!"
She looked up with them.
The kite was falling.
"Get out!" Sugar Belle exclaimed, galloping up the stairs and budging the three mares away.
Entered the house.
Leaped over a couch and hid behind it.
Boom!
Room shook, rumbled.
Paintings, vases, candles, books, boxes, containers, bells—and many others fell off their shelves and surfaces.
Felt the heat of the explosion.
The wind, the gust.
Crumbling, breaking, collapsing.
Crash!
Kept her eyes closed.
Screams from the outside.
"What's going on?!" she could hear Moon Dancer cry out from upstairs.
"I knew they were coming for us!" Lemon Hearts yelled from the kitchen amidst glass jars hitting themselves. "I'll go get the rest! Stay up there, Moon Dancer!"
Could hear the hoofsteps to the living room.
"They got our house!" Lemon Hearts cried out. "There's a big hole in our house! Is that...Minuette?! Lyra?! Twinkleshine?! Are you OK?!"
Sugar Belle could hear the start of weeping in those words.
Kept her eyes closed.
"They're not waking up!"



Lemon Hearts leaned down to a knocked Minuette and hit her on the face.
As those three unicorns lay with their eyes closed in the middle of a crater in the sidewalk.
"Girls! Wake up! Wake up!"
Heard screams around her.
Looked up.
Saw ponies galloping away.
Broken streets, broken roads.
Devastated homes, infested with fires.
Fancy Pants, Fleur de Lis, and their driver lying on the road.
Dead.
Lemon Hearts whimpered at the scene. Streetlights down, bodies lying on the streets and sidewalks, and several ponies running with spears and arrows of their own.
Fighting off the incoming guards in their armor.
A blur, a whirl.
Saw two ponies galloping on, across the road.
The cracked road. Some carriages were on fire.
Burning.



Over rubble, journeying the lines of destroyed houses with their cowering inhabitants. Only a few attacked those two ponies, yet they were deflected by Double Diamond's punches.
Party Favor levitated an arrow in mid-air and flung it back at the guard who had fired it.
The guard fell over.
Fractured floors, shattered windows, smashed walls, crushed buildings.
"Where's Sugar Belle?" Party Favor asked as they jumped over to the sidewalk and hearing the screams and shouts around them—arrows flinging by.
"She will come around," Double Diamond replied. "Now, what's top priority is rallying the rest of our forces and bring them over to the castle. Striking at this opportune time, burning down Shining Armor's mansion..."
"Are you sure we have all we need to take on the entire Canterlot guard?" Party Favor said, nervous. "They're professionals and—"
"Which is why we trained as well," Double Diamond chimed in. "What we can't match with our numbers, we make up with our tactics. The guards thrive in numbers, we thrive in tactics. Follow my lead, and you'll always be safe."
Party Favor nodded.
The two of them crossed the street and saw more streets in chaos. Carriages overrun, ponies clothed in rags defeating the guards down with ease, late explosions further scattering the city into debris and wrecks.
Bodies lying on the streets, on the sidewalks.
Either unconscious or dead.



Double Diamond sat at a desk inside a closed room, turning on the microphone there. Party Favor ran about, plugging and unplugging speakers to this and that electric outlet, sticking out his tongue as he levitated another set of speakers and placing them by the windows with open panes but closed curtains.
It was a dark room, and they could not see much.
"Is everything ready?" Double Diamond asked, covering the microphone with his hoof.
Party Favor nodded, glowing his horn to make himself more visible.
"Perfect."
He cleared his throat and opened his mouth.
And the microphone.



"Good morning, fellow Equestrians!"
The voice boomed throughout, flooding the air.
Trixie yelped, freezing right at her spot, hooked to the wagon.
She galloped faster, breezing past the falling debris and the decaying city.
"Today, you have witnessed the ruin of your precious capital, Canterlot. Do not worry—this is not a Crystal attack. This is an attack made by your own kind, by those who disagree with the thoughts and actions of our 'beloved' Princesses."
Trixie bumped into somepony and fell to the ground.
Rubbed her head, pounding with pain. "Can you watch where you're—"
"Ah, Trixie!" Yearling yelled and hooked herself up to the wagon with her own harness.
"You dare commandeer the wagon of the Great and Powerful—"
"Move or the both of us die!"
"Eep!"
And, the two were off, galloping down the streets.
The speech continued, but, between the two of them, it was drowned out as they talked.
"What are you doing?!" Trixie yelled.
"I'm escaping with you!" Yearling answered. "First, I want you to stop by the book store you went to earlier!"
"Why?! Are you mad?"
"I left something there! It's very important that I keep it with me!"



The wagon screeched to a halt in front of the book store.
Yearling unhooked herself and ran inside.
Well Read was crouching behind the counter, looking outside through the cracked glass facade. "Who's there?!"
"It's me!" Yearling shouted and ran to the back room.
The librarian took another mint off the candy bowl under the counter and swallowed it immediately. "Are you getting your treasure chest?!"
"What do you think I'm doing?!" she hollered from inside.
Well Read eyed the remaining mints inside.
Scooped them inside her saddle bag.
Eyed the many books left on their shelves.
Yearling appeared by the back door, carrying the treasure chest over her shoulder. She turned to Well Read hiding over there. "No time to waste! If you want to get out of here alive, get inside the wagon!"
Well Read zipped her bag shut and ran outside.



"Our troops are everywhere," the voice barked through the speakers. "You will not flee so easily. Trust us, it is better that you stay here and obey our every single order—wait, what? What is that you say? Hold on—one minute, everypony!"
The wagon creaked, wobbling. Careened down several streets, dodging arrows and outpacing attackers.
Whizzing by burning buildings, dying ponies.
Ambulance carriages, defending soldiers.
Turned round one more corner.
"There it is!" Yearling cried out. "The exit!"
Indeed, there it was, the gate out of Canterlot.
Slowly closing.
"Quick! Trixie, run faster!"
"I can't! I'm not an Earth pony like you!"
"That doesn't matter! Your whole life depends on it!"
Galloping.
Closer and closer to the gate.
Arrows pouring down.
Strafing left, strafing right.
Then, through the gate.
Up the half-closed, lifted moat bridge.
Flying through the air, those two ponies and their wagon.
Trixie screamed her way to the paved path.
Landed on the other side of the river.
Galloping onward.



Door swung open.
Well Read sat on her bed, her yellow and orange mane fuzzy and disorganized.
Yearling approached the librarian. "You're alright?"
She nodded. "I'm alright. Thank you for saving me."
Yearling waved her hoof. "No need. I was just doing what I had to do."
Well Read turned towards the treasure chest sitting underneath the window.
"Manuscripts," Yearling added, taking the container with her. "Manuscripts and other articles, including some ancient relics I found on my own when I tried to copy my own hero."
Well Read checked herself, stopping a burst of laughter. "Did you find the Sapphire Stone?"
"You can't find it," Yearling said, smiling. "It's fictional."
Well Read sighed. "Thanks again, Yearling."



Open fields of grass cut in two by a wide dirt road which was engraved with the trails and prints of so many wheels and hooves.
It was almost noon. Smelled of fresh grass, that exhilarating breath of fresh air. Far ahead could be seen the outline of a short town.
"I guess your next step is going to be finding another place to call home," Trixie said.
The magician and the writer stood outside the cart, in the fields of grass by the path.
"Not really," Yearling replied. "All I have to do is wait it out. Princess Celestia may be out in some random skirmish, but Princess Luna is here. Starlight's going to answer for a lot in the coming weeks, don't you think?"
Trixie kept silent.
"I'll be off," Yearling said, carrying the chest over her shoulder again.
Trixie did a double take. "Why don't you come with us? You'll be alone and helpless!"
"I learned more than a few tricks during my time with Daring Do." She inched an eyebrow upward, giving her an assuring feeling. "Had to study a lot about survival tips and, well, I have to do this on my own. I have an army of dedicated fans, but some are...too dedicated, and I gotta finish up the next book."
Trixie nodded with a swing of her cape flowing with the wind. "Then, you shall meet the Great and Powerful Trixie again soon?"
Yearling cackled. "I don't know about that. Let's see."



The pharmacy was bright with its lights and radiant yellow on the walls and on the ceiling. Endless shelves of medicines and vitamins and minerals, soaps and alcohols. The scent was typical for such an establishment: soothing yet artificial. 
One cashier at the counter looked at Yearling odd. "You seem to be lugging around a lot of bandages, Miss Yearling. Do you need any help?"
She shook her head, carrying a heavy plastic bags brimming with those bandages. "It's OK, sir. I need to be prepared for anything. Popularity has its downsides."
He rolled his eyes. "Whatever."



The town of Bristle was aptly named for its abundance of pig bristles—it was right there on the slogan of the city, "With Bristles We Brush Off", which could been seen at nearly every turn, for the slogan was painted on the walls, written on the papers, printed with the city logos, and stamped on the road signs.
Sure enough, the first thing an avid tourist might see on a regular visit to Bristle—besides the admittedly aggravating slogan—was a carriage of pigs, pulled by several strong Earth ponies hauling them off to a brush mill where those pigs' bristles are cut off and placed on a variety of brushes.
Under the surface, though, was where Bristle showed itself to be a rich and diverse site. There's a shop dedicated to selling only paint and, as of this late hour in the night, lots of ponies were flocking to it in hopes of catching the final paint cans on sale before it closes. A block away was a facility where ponies could spend time with their pets inside; true to its nature, it was a noisy place with all the warbles and meow's and ruff's—not to be beaten was the owl who, flourishing in the night, hooted with great joy and abandon. On the other side of town resided a comedy club where mirthful guffaws, not mere laughs, could be heard from a bedroom despite the doors being closed.
That bedroom was across the street, so it was not much of a stretch to hear it, but it did irritate Yearling to the point that she covered her ears whenever she thought another bout of hilarity was about to drop in.
Her bedroom was rustic in a sense. While it did not have that country theme, it did not have many items and objects to begin with. There was the bed, of course, and a lamp to read under. A table was there and so was a closet, but that was it. Nothing hanging on the walls, no rugs or carpets to cover the gray floor.
Yearling was sitting by the table, typing on her typewriter more pages for the next installment in the "Daring Do" series.
Beside the typewriter was the treasure chest, open.
Inside were typewritten manuscripts and blank papers.
Along with them, ancient relics shining under the lamp.
"If only those comedians knew how much I'm trying to recover from an injured wing," she murmured through her teeth before continuing on with the novel.