Two miles away, in a secret basement meeting room:
Torch stood up, brushing some dust off of her yellow coat. "This meeting of the Campfire Society is now called to order. Flametrail? Membership report?"
Flametrail, whose yellow hoof had been tracing a slow circle around the room as she mumbled under her breath, finished counting and nodded. "Fifty-three present, well past quorum."
"Excellent. And our financials?"
"Alright." Flametrail's mouth quirked into a mild frown. "Could be better."
"We'd be fine if it weren't for Cloudsdale repealing that rent-control law," Burner interjected, crossing her yellow forelegs.
Torch sighed. "We'll convene a committee. Might be time to look into a lease-to-own deal on some cloud property. Blaze? Media report?"
Blaze and Spitfire simultaneously stood up, grim looks on their muzzles.
"Rainbow Dash is on to us," Blaze said.
Torch froze.
"She knows about the magic pool," Spitfire said. "And we can't advise the usual 'accidental' termination. Way too close to the Princesses."
A murmur swept through the room.
Torch winced. "Well, I hear the Neighchelles are particularly lovely this time of year ..."