//------------------------------//
// Bronclyn 
// Story: A War 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

It was sunset, the sky a fierce orange and the sun itself descending gradually upon the green lands beyond the rivers of "The City That's Always Awake". Here, its prime hour was about to make its renowned scene—various skyscrapers and high-rises had already turned on their exterior lights in preparation of that fateful hour, illuminating the streets already lit up by the final minutes of the day.
As usual, the roads of Manehattan were rife with carriages zipping by, yellow taxis making up about half of the traffic. In this noisy cosmopolitan metropolis, a great diversity of creatures could be seen—while the majority of them were ponies scurrying about on the sidewalks with their bags and briefcases, griffons could also be seen flying about along with a few yaks here and there plus some Abyssinian cats roaming and checking things out. The parks only magnified the variety—there, several ponies were sitting only meters away from yaks and griffons trying out the experience of sailing on a boat through a creek where several cats were casting their baited fishing lines and waiting for food over cozy chats.
By an avenue in the borough of Bronclyn, a bakery sat squished between two block apartments.
The interior gave off a toasted smell—the lights were already on ahead of the coming night. Pastries were advertised behind the glass displays, the most prominent of them being the array of cookies and their many different flavors: from plain cookies through chocolate chip and peanut butter and up to the peculiar like cookies topped with chili.
Customers sat at their tables, conversing over cookies and other baked goods, their words regularly woven with crunches and bites. Newspapers were a common sight, with ponies discussing the news of the moment: the headline of "The Manehattan Times" was "Grand Equestria Pony Summit Moved to Summer's Day 1! Emergency Conditions Called for Reschedule!" Given the unsettling nature of the news, the climate of dialogue was heating up, with one pony going so far as to say, "I shall relocate and stay alive that way!"
Behind the counter, helped by a few aproned assistants serving tables and baking food, was Cookie Crumbles herself, her mane in that bunned manner.
Sitting on a swivel chair across the counter was a pegasus wearing her ordinary orange shirt, chewing on a plain old chocolate chip cookie over a plate of more such cookies.
"It only makes sense that she's so upset," Cookie said in that country drawl, furnishing another plate of cookies and hoofing it to the customer before her. "I don't know if my husband could bear that much on his heart, much less me."
Windy Whistles sighed. "But, those ponies from that strange and crazy town in the middle of nowhere...they're evil! I don't get them, none of us over at Cloudsdale gets them! It's only right that my awesome daughter killed her—if that Night Glider only knew how much suffering everyone back at home has to endure, suffering without their children..."
Another frustrated sigh.
"Cloudsdale used to be great! An aerial powerhouse, a champion in weather control! Now, it's lagging behind because everypony who becomes old enough to get drafted is sent to the front and the best we could ask for is a two-week leave."
Cookie Crumbles continued listening, though her hooves went through the motions of getting cookies and serving them to other customers seated at the counter.
"Now that Fluttershy's sent off to the front as well, the Shy's have lost it. Nopony's heard from her brother for almost a week and the mayor let us know that he's certainly not in Cloudsdale anymore."
A sniff. Windy rubbed her runny nose.
"The first few days after Fluttershy was gone, we went to the Shy home, only to find that they were crying, too. So, we cried together...but, even we had to realize that we're becoming pathetic. So, we're taking a little vacation here—getting ourselves on the ground and just...getting our minds out of it all, you know."
Cookie nodded, having given yet another plate of cookies to yet another customer. "You're not the only one doing that. Manehattan's gettin' more tourists everyday but not for the right reasons. Strained families trying to relax, too, even though they're making themselves close targets if anything bad happens at this side of the front."
"But, where else can we go?" Windy asked, putting up a hoof. "Las Pegasus is history, Canterlot's never been the same with its sudden loss of the elite, and...Manehattan has everything. When you're emotionally and mentally drained as we are, you need everything to fill you back up."
Cookie nodded again. "I see..."
Windy finished her first cookie and grabbed another one. "Aren't you afraid of, well, getting bombed by the Crystals?"
"I sure do, but I do my best to not let it get to me. To be honest, it wasn't the best of things movin' here—"
Windy slanted her head a little to the side, slightly startled. "You're not a Manehattanite?"
Cookie nodded once more. "I'm surprised the accent didn't give it away, but we're from a small village known as Ponyville."
Windy almost spat out her bite of a cookie. She gulped it down. "Did you say...Ponyville?"
"Yes, ma'am. Why? A relative lives there?"
"Don't you remember that Ponyville and Cloudsdale are close together?" Windy asked. "Does that mean we were living almost right beside each other before you left?"
Cookie looked up, thinking. "That ain't exactly 'right beside each other', but...yeah, we were."
"Huh. Small world."
Cookie smiled.
"That's because Fluttershy actually worked for Applejack—one of the Apple family ponies running Sweet Apple Acres..." Windy made a sheepish smile, "you know, the one producing those Famous Canned Apples?"
Now, it was Cookie who sighed. "Yes, her. Sweetie Belle's been gettin' letters from Applejack's sister and another friend there, so we saw the farm slowly turn into a factory over the months as if we were there."
Windy placed a hoof on her cheek, wearing a pitying expression. "Doesn't it hurt to see such a traditional farmpony give up her farming ways?"
Cookie nodded yet again—eyes closed, a frown appearing. "Yes, it does, but what can you do? It's everypony for the cause—well, in Ponyville, at least." She rolled her eyes.
Windy looked away, chewing on her cookie again.
As Cookie Crumbles, through the main glass door, saw a carriage with a huge wagon full of tourists pass by outside.



The bus carriage traveled around in Manehattan at a peaceful crawl, allowing the tourists enough time to take pictures of those tall buildings, of this and that park, of these attractions by the sidewalk, and—of course—the Manehattanites themselves who took offense at being treated in such a way.
Walking around in the pulled wagon, guiding those visitors around, were none other than the Manehattan Cutie Mark Crusaders themselves, sporting appropriate tour guide hats.
"Our next stop will be the Bronclyn Botanic Garden!" Sweetie Belle announced. "Get your cameras ready because you'll be breathing in the fresh air of...uh, so many fresh plants you've never seen before!"
Babs Seed groaned and blew her bangs away from her eyes while Tender Taps sweated his way through the ride.



It was night.
Enigmatic was the garden at night. Cherry trees with pink leaves provided shade to a rocky path which wrapped over to a little forest with towering plants—including more trees. Shrubbery of all kinds and in all forms, from the untamed bush to the stylish hedge, bordered the path now covered in copious green leaves and security guards in their blue shirts and blue hats.
The path led to a calm river, becoming a bridge. The river itself was lined with flowers faintly shining the light of the moon. The scent of that crisp river, combined with the fragrance of the flowers...it was enough to bring the more poetical visitors to write down a few lines of verse.
On the other side, a fenced-off section of more beautiful flowers. The tourists went in and, constraining themselves to speaking only in whispers, beheld all that was before them.
Red roses with their umpteen nested petals. Blue violets in their simple guise with their simple leaves. Tulips in all the colors of the rainbow, facing upward toward the sky. Daffodils in white and yellow, drooping downwards toward the ground. Buttercups in their dainty shape, hyacinths bundled up in bunches, lavenders exhibiting purple...
A hushed picture. The guests became silent. The snapping and clicking of cameras came to a halt, for it was the eyes that took the garden in.
Stillness in the busy city.
"Uh, are we getting our cutie marks, yet?" Tender Taps asked Babs and Sweetie beside him, the Cutie Mark Crusaders standing just outside the flower garden. He looked at his flank. "Because, I don't think we're getting our cutie marks, yet."
"What about you start askin' after the tour's done?" Babs said, pushing Taps aside.
"I wouldn't want to put it that way," Sweetie added, "but we have to wait it out until the session's over. What if this really is our true talent?"
Tender Taps gulped. "But, what about our—"
"That was because there was nopony who wanted our services back then," Sweetie answered. "Now, we got our tourists."
"But, how long do we have to, uh, guide them?" Taps insisted. "I don't think I can handle talking to a crowd of ponies much longer!"
"Keep it together, Taps!" Babs replied, shoving him and making him fall.
"Ow"
"Hey, Babs!" Sweetie lashed out, keeping her voice down and glaring at her freckled friend. "We're in this together!"
Babs blew her bangs away again. "It's difficult to work with a crybaby everyday."
"I'm working with a 'crybaby' everyday, too, and you don't see me treat him like that!" Sweetie replied, helping Taps up.
Babs grunted, scowled at him.
"Agh!" and Taps clung to Sweetie.
Babs walked up to him and pressed her hoof on his nose. "You better have a positive attitude out here, Taps, or else...what are ya' gonna do? Go dance your sorrows away?"
"Babs Seed!" Sweetie cried out and shoved her away.
And the three of them heard gasps.
They turned around and saw the tourists gawking at them.
Sweetie gulped and faced the shocked group of visitors. "Uh...sorry for the inconvenience?"



The doors of the bakery opened to show a sullen Sweetie Belle entering the establishment.
Eyes were watching her, murmurs buzzing about over her head.
"Sweetie Belle!" Cookie greeted—worried, bothered. She ran from the counter, bumping against her assistants and causing them to almost drop their trays of cookies they were pulling from the ovens. Around the counter, to the customers' dining area, then to Sweetie.
Picked her up.
"I can see that face from a mile away," Cookie said, ignoring the clientele minding mother and daughter. "What happened? Did you fail in one of your cutie mark adventures again?"
"It's not just that!" Sweetie whined, stomping on the tiled floor. "Babs mocked Taps for being so nervous and scared of this and that, and I tried to stop her—"
Cookie patted her on the head. "There, there. You tried and it didn't work out, but that's OK! You know how these Manehattanite folk work—they shout at each other at night and make up in the morning."
"I heard that!" one of the patrons said, taking his hat off and looking rather annoyed at the remark, but continued eating his food anyway.
Sweetie sniffed, eyes wet. "But...what if th-this time, they won't make up in the morning?"
"Oh, let's not worry about what could happen," Cookie said, putting her down and smiling at her. "On the bright side, Apple Bloom and Scootaloo wrote back and I got the letter in your room. You read over that and don't think about Taps and Babs for a while, will you?"
Sweetie nodded, holding back the tears and contriving a small smile. "Thanks, Mom."
Heading her way to the counter, she noticed Windy Whistles sitting at the counter, with a stack of dirty plates and one clean plate of cookies. "Wow, miss! You really like my Mom's cookies!"
Windy muffled a giggle. "They are delicious...and, you must be the Sweetie Belle she's been talking about?"
Sweetie blinked. "You know her?"
"Not until today, but we found out that we used to live near each other! I lived in Cloudsdale and I still do with my lovely husband, but we're here on a short vacation trip."
Sweetie nodded and trotted to her.
Cookie gulped, but continued to the counter and resumed her bakery duties of attending to the night's newcomers and their orders.
Sweetie hopped up the chair beside her and whirled her way around to face her. "So, what's your name?"
Windy picked up yet another cookie. "My name's Windy Whistles, and I'm the Mom of—"
Cookie glanced at her.
Windy noted it and covered her mouth with a cookie.
"Oh!" Sweetie shouted, bending her head forward to listen closely. "How many children do you have? Are they all pegasi or do you have an Earth pony or a unicorn in the family, too?"
"Uh, we have...one."
"What's her cutie mark?" Sweetie inquired. "What's her talent? Because, we're gonna try it out tomorrow—it's a Friday tomorrow, and that means we have lots of free time—"
"Isn't it your school break already?" Windy asked, interrupting her flow of thought, catching Cookie's distressed eye signals.
Sweetie looked behind her.
"Ah, yes, Sweetie!" Cookie rubbed her mane. "She's a nice pony to talk to, but we were in the middle of our own talk—kinda' important, so it's best you go upstairs and read that letter!"
"Oh..."
Sweetie pouted.
Then, smiled.
"OK!"
The filly hopped off the chair and trotted to a door at the far end of the bakery.
Leaving the two mothers to resume their own talk.



Sweetie sat on the chair.
Pressed the button on the lamp.
Bright light shining on the surface.
She placed the letter under it.
Sweetie looked around.
Squalid walls, decrepit floor. A strong stench which could be detected despite the ample amount of perfume that had been sprayed over everything inside the bedroom. The bed itself was short, had one pillow and a big blanket. It was beside the sole window where Sweetie would sometimes see the avenue in overload—carriages at a standstill, drivers and passengers alike clamoring for their peers to move over or to do a u-turn or to try something else to abate the gridlock.
But, whatever the situation was outside, she did not know about it, since the windows were closed both by curtain and by panes.
With the letter unfolded and the envelope set aside, she read:
Dear Sweetie Belle,
This is Scootaloo writing now because it's my turn! So, how are you? Everything still OK there? Is Rarity still doing well? I hope your Dad's alive—I know how hard it is to not see him when you're also not sure if he's coming back.
Here's an update of everything that happened in Ponyville since Tuesday:
So, on Tuesday, Mr. and Mrs. Cake finally had Sugarcube Corner fully renovated. It's now a boring old bread shop. I get it because just bread is cheaper to make and it fills stomachs like cakes and pies, but it won't ever replace the good things we used to have. I remember the last things we ordered that morning before it was complete: I had chocolate cake as usual while Apple Bloom had blueberry and strawberry pie (but Applejack doesn't know that yet because she only told her about the blueberry pie! Let's see how long we can keep this up! I'll also tell what Strawberry Sunrise will say about it when the secret's out; boy, will she be happy to hear that!)
Nothing else happened on Tuesday. We tried getting our cutie marks in shipbuilding and in paper plane flying, but it's too complicated to build ships and Cheerilee asked us what exactly would we do if we got a paper plane cutie mark. I told her that there's this pony out there who has a cutie mark for chewing gum, but Cheerilee shot that idea down.
Wednesday, Diamond Tiara was absent from school. Silver Spoon didn't wanna say anything, but we asked around, and we discovered that her Dad's in danger of going to jail because he sold weapons to the Crystal Empire without even knowing it. The only thing that'll guarantee his not-going-to-jail is if we find the scammers who scammed him which will be hard. Several guards from Canterlot are on the case and a few detectives, but we really don't know for sure.
You think that seeing Diamond Tiara get crushed like that would make us happy. Well, it doesn't. She may be a bully, but things like this...it reminds you that she has feelings. Silver Spoon said today that she's willing to go absent tomorrow if it's not yet solved in order to support her friend. I and Apple Bloom won't go absent, but (as much as we don't like saying it) we're going to help Diamond Tiara's Dad get out of trouble. Somehow. I don't know, but maybe we'll catch the criminals hanging around in Ponyville.
Today, this morning, Applejack got a big surprise from Big Mac. We got surprised, too, and we wanted to let you know right now that Big Mac has a crush on Cheerilee! And what's even better? Cheerilee has a crush on him, too! It turns out they've been in love for quite some time, but they kept it secret from even his own family! But, everypony in town knows now, and Mayor Mare's already asking when the marriage is gonna take place! I wish you could at least attend the wedding; he's Apple Bloom's brother, after all, and we don't want you to miss it!
And, I'm running out of space for this letter. I really should've asked for bigger paper, but I don't wanna rewrite all these words down again.
So, until we see you again! This is Scootaloo, and Apple Bloom is watching over me and we're both proud for Big Mac and Cheerilee!
Cutie Mark Crusaders forever!
Sweetie grinned.



Sweetie snored.
Lights were out.
She was fast asleep.
A creak.
Door open.
A pony tiphoofing her way to the bed.
Looked left.
Looked right.
Looked behind her.
Slowly, gently put something on the pillow, beside Sweetie's head.
The stranger tiphoofed her way back to the door and quietly closed it.
She trotted down the hallway and went to the next door.
Opened it.
Entered.
Turned on the lights.
It was the most gorgeous an apartment room could ever be with limited resources. Bouquets of flowers filled plenty of vases on the table, forming an olfactory concoction which had spread everywhere, an unprecedented smell to the nose. Paintings of ponies dressed in clothes marvelous and palatial hung on the walls, relaying wells of inspiration and chic genius in their attention to detail. Mannequins with actual haute couture in progress were laid out for all to see, gems and sequins being the finishing touches to all of these. Finally, the room's masterwork—the bed—was a simple bed.
Rarity sighed and wiped the sweat off of her forehead, then the dirt off of her face. She levitated a brush from the shelf and combed her worn out mane. "Well, things may be going slow, but at least we've got something done! Sweetie is going to have one big surprise when she wakes up!"



"Rarity!"
The pony in question smiled, standing at the bakery's counter dressed up in her work uniform: that same old utilitarian gray shirt, that same old utilitarian gray hat with a large ribbon on top. Her mane was back with those once familiar curls, and she patted them.
She looked upon the bakery's tables and chairs before her.
All empty.
The main door showed a morning early, the sky a merry blue. On the road, a few carriages—it was mostly free.
"What's the use of retaining my original style when it will be undone the moment I step in the mill?"
Her frown became a grimace.
"Beauty will not leave without a fight, I say!"
The door at the far end opened, revealing a happy Sweetie wearing a hat which brimmed with flowers. "Rarity!"
She galloped her way to her sister and hugged her.
Sweetie wearing a fancy hat, Rarity wearing a dismal cap.
"Where did you find the time to make it?!" Sweetie yelled, holding on to her hat. "I rarely see you come over in time to make a hat like this!"
Rarity's smile grew. "Darling, I didn't want to let my fashion skills go to waste, so I had to work on something other than one-off dresses and suits—and, I thought, why not give this one to my little sister, hm?"
"Aww!"
And, the two hugged each other again.
"Now, Sweetie Belle—go to school and show the education system that you can learn in style!"
Sweetie laughed. "Will do, Rarity!"
The filly ran out of the bakery.
Only ten seconds on the sidewalk and she skidded to a halt.
Having almost hit Babs Seed who was running the other way, toward the bakery.
Babs was gasping for breath, then spoke hurried and unnerved: "Sweetie Belle, I don't know how it happened—I know, but..."
"But, what?" Sweetie asked, her voice rising in anxiety. "What happened?"
"Taps got his cutie mark!"
"What?!"