//------------------------------//
// Hearts on Sleeves 
// Story: A War 
// by Comma Typer 
//------------------------------//

It was morning again, with that bright blue sky and that soothing warmth of the early sun. Carriages again went about on the roads, and the sidewalks slowly filled up with ponies and other creatures. Over there, uniformed ponies displayed their gloom to the whole world by the excessive pouts on their faces, one of them holding up a sign as he walked which said, "Uniforms on Saturdays and Sundays, too? Give us a break!"
In front of the bakery, a mailmare swooped in, took out the letters and packages inside the post box, and swooped out.



Flying in the sky was Derpy, carrying mailbags at a great height. This did not faze her, for Derpy kept smiling.
She approached Cloudsdale, that cloud city over the grass plains below.
Closer, closer.
Someone was flying to her from the city.
An armored guard.
Derpy skidded to a halt in mid-air and saluted the guard.
They both flapped their wings in the sky just before Cloudsdale.
"We need to see proof of identification, miss."
"But, I live here, sir!" Derpy replied.
"Anyone could say that. Not everyone can show us evidence, though."
"I'll show you my house if I have to, o-officer," Derpy said, bending forward and trying to look past his shoulder.
The guard blocked every attempt to look past him.
"You didn't check everypony before, good sir," she went on in a pleading voice. "I'm a mailpony and I need to bring the mail very fast and very soon."
"Show me your ID and other identification papers if you have them, and then I'll let you continue your job."
Derpy sighed. "Oh, alright."
She unzipped her mailbag, fumbled her hoof around, and found her ID.
Gave it to the guard.
He inspected it, rotated it, inspected it some more.
Gave it back to her.
"You may go, Derpy."
She nodded. "Thank you, officer!"
And, she flew on.



Derpy walked past the streets.
The empty streets.
Nopony was on the sidewalks, nor was anypony hovering over them. Despite the many businesses and stores there, the only ponies Derpy could see where the ones inside, and those ponies were few in number. The only ones likely to be there no matter what were the ponies who worked in those businesses, meaning the cashiers, the waiters, the chefs, the salesponies, the supervisors, the managers, the clerks—all these were expected to be present, come what may. However, with the miserable lack of customers, they merely milled about, staving off the monotony by talking to each other or reading the newspaper...or, talking to each other about the stories they were getting from the newspapers they were reading. Then, there were those who just took the day off, not being there at all.
Derpy flew past these deserted roads and drifted to the square.
The tiny clock tower still stood in the center. The bulletin boards with their tacked on announcements and newspapers still showed up.
Not in view were the ponies who used to frequent the square.
This square now empty, devoid of regulars except for Derpy.



In the Cloudsdale Post Office, Derpy breathed out another sigh as she bunched up more outgoing mail from the metal table before her and stuffed them into her mailbag.
Under those industrial lights shut down for the day, a few ponies continued their labor, sorting out mail and putting them into the correct post trays.
The sun flooding the post office with its sparkling light through the windows everywhere on the walls.



The weather factory was a network of interconnected structures linked by stairs or hallways—not that the stairs were necessary, since a lot of the pegasi workers could just fly up and down, but that was besides the point. The commotion of cloud production crashed and clamored around so loud, it could be heard from outside.
At the domed entrance with its three yellow double doors, Derpy floated above the cloudy "ground".
She went inside the factory.
The reception chamber was large with its theme of purple, blue, and gray. Several corridors led to parts farther inside the factory—this one on the left was a locker room where several ponies clothed in white shirts and white helmets were just walking out of; this one was a short hallway to one giant set of double doors, and above those doors was the symbol of a cloud with two bolts of lightning discharged from it.
Back to the chamber: There was a receptionist's desk with a glasses-wearing pony there, observing the activity going on inside with ponies trotting around and chatting there.
As Derpy flew to a corridor, she passed by two stallions in casual discussion, both of them wearing the weather factory uniform.
"It's getting boring here," the stockier and taller one said, his eyes covered by his brown bangs. "It's double the work and half the time."
"That's efficiency for you, Hoops," the leaner and shorter one replied, tapping on his hard helmet hiding his gray mane. "But, it gets the both of us out of any kind of trouble."
"I would be fine with that if we had something to do after work, Buddy," Hoops said.
Buddy nodded. "I know. Dumb-Bell and Score just went off this morning, but, you know...you could send them letters."
"I'm the oldest," Hoops said, pointing to himself, "and they're the ones who leave me behind?"
He crossed his forelegs and hovered.
"Things were better with us three. Me, Dumb-Bell, and Score. Things were even better when Rainbow Dash and Klutzershy used to be here, too...but, it's just me now and I don't know what to do."
"That's a start," Buddy said, spreading his wings and hovering at his level. "What about we go down to Ponyville and try out...um...something?"
Silence. Well, as much silence as could be possible with the noise of cloud production in other sections.
Hoops landed on the floor.
Buddy, too.
"Isn't it funny?" Hoops asked. "Back then, we were the cool kids. We raced and beat everyone at school. Then, Rainbow Dash comes along and we race twice—I could've won if it weren't for her standing still! Everyone thought this one wouldn't count, so we had to race again—and that's when her Sonic Rainboom took us out. It's all they talked about those days. Rainboom this, Rainboom that, Rainboom left and right and up and down and diagonals!"
"Yearning for those good old days when you were the kings of the class?" Buddy asked, a smirk on him.
Hoops sighed and shook his head, cooling off. "What's the point? Even if I tried, how do you beat Rainbow Dash the Wonderbolt? How do you beat her streak of kills? Dumb-Bell and Score—they have a chance. Me? I'm assigned to work here and I'm afraid of going out there."
Buddy made a caring face. "I get you. But, they also have a chance of dying, so—"
Hoops punched him on the face.



Several clouds poured out rivers of rainbow falling through the sky. They converged and formed one big river.
Then, this river poured through a gap in a cloud wall and streamed down to a slightly flat basin and up again, only to fall down quickly to another basin farther down and up again, only to fall down once more to yet another basin farther down, and so it went several more times—near the floor, it landed on a bigger basin where a pony stirred it about and made it split into two, with one river going this way to this basin and the other going that way to that basin.
One river landed in a shallow pit on the floor, becoming a rainbow pond, although the river continued through a depthless and artificial riverbed.
Many of the weather toilers in this open air facility, in this part of the weather factory, had the job of stirring these rivers of rainbow, ensuring that they are of the right consistency: not too watery, not too thick.
One could see Hoops being carried by two guards, flying him back to his designated post by a rainbow river on the ground. He was given his long stirrer and, with some mumbles, resumed his task.
Sunshower hovered over all the occupied employees there stirring rainbow rivers about. She held a megaphone to her mouth, and shouted:
"You can do it! We can do it! The rainbows we're making are the signs of hope! As long as there are rainbows in the skies, there will always be hope! As long as we're still here, still churning out rainbows, we're still alive and still kicking! Don't slow down! A rainbow at the right time in the right place is more than enough to instill in our fellow Equestrians passionate loyalty to Equestria, to the Princesses, for our victory and our joyful future!
"Don't stop! Don't slack even for just a moment to rest! We're not just helping the ponies fighting for our lives out at the battle! We're also helping the ponies who are here with us, here in our homes, in our towns, in our cities! Everywhere you go, do you think about what they go through, about the torment they have to withstand because a pony or two is missing from their day? A rainbow—yes, a rainbow!—will inspire them to keep on going!"
"Quiet down, will ya'?!" Hoops shouted from his place.
Sunshower frowned. "And, what's got you down? Is it because this work is too tiring for you?"
"Some of us are trying to have a clear head while they make the rainbows!"
Sunshower scratched her head, then looked off to the sky past the columns surroundings the rainbow area.
She could see a huge cloud bundled up in rope over there, being transported by three pegasi.



"...and they kicked me out just like that!" Fluffy Clouds, that lanky pony and now a bowtied fellow, carried the brunt of the cloud's weight by being the only pony underneath it, holding it up with his hooves. "Told me I was a coward! Well, if I never! I did my fair share of the workload! I cleaned all the plates, I dried all the dishes, and I proposed that we economize on everything by shooting our broken plates at the Crystals, but they said I'm crazy! They're laughing now, but let's see who'll laugh later!"
Pushing the cloud from the back were Clear Skies and Open Skies, one mare and one stallion flying the cloud to its destination.
Below them: grass and more grass, with some trees punctuating the plush fields.
"I don't think anypony's listening to him," Open Skies remarked.
"But, poor guy!" Clear Skies said, furrowing her brows in sympathy. "He got into the Wonderbolts as a cadet, and he's a good flyer to boot. It's his critical attitude that threw him out."
"Yeah, I can see for myself."
The wind blew by, and the pegasi steered the cloud a little to the left.
"So, Good Prospects...burning without rain for almost a month! And, it's not even summer, yet!"
"It's close, though," she replied.
"But, who let this one slip by? I'm pretty sure there were lots of complaints sent to the weather factory...how could nopony notice that?"
"Precisely because there's nopony there in the first place."
"Hmm. You're right."
Quiet in the skies.
"You know..." Open Skies started, "I'd like to visit Good Prospects when it rains tomorrow. You've been there—what's it like?"
"Like any other old town trying to be current," Clear Skies answered with a flick of her mane. "They're paving the dirt roads, they're telling everyone to start wearing trendy clothes, and it used to be that way until...you know."
"The war?"
"Bingo."
Kept pushing the cloud with him, the scenery gradually changing but with its plentiful grass holding over.
"What happened then?"
"Good Prospects is known for its grain. Lots of grain. Lots of wheat, lots of bread, lots of starchy food. So, the mayor there got lots of orders to speed up production—build wheat factories, build wheat farms, give each citizen basic bread training. So, bread, bread, bread, and bread...bread all the way until Sunday."
"Does that mean they have cheap pizza?"
"Definitely."
She adjusted the position of her hooves on the cloud, getting a firmer grip on it.
"Because of the increased bread production, pizza's the main attraction. They have deep dish pizza, pizza rolls, pizza sandwiches, pizza bagels...you name it, they got it. They have more than enough pizza farms to satisfy your pizza taste. I'm telling you, Open Skies, when Sombra's dead and the Empire's done, Good Prospects will be the next Trottingham. A culinary revolution will spark there because ponies will be tired of pizza sooner or later. They'll find a way to master calzones, panzerottis, pancakes, breadsticks, spaghetti, other pastas."
A sigh.
"Sad thing is, this will have all happened because lots of ponies died."
Open Skies remained silent.
"Should I eat there even now? Is it OK? Should I eat pizza from Good Prospects?"
"You're overthinking now, Clear Skies," he said.
"I mean, it's not overthinking if it's lives we're talking about."
Clear Skies nodded. "Good point."
Open Skies did not make an answer to that.
And they pushed the cloud on, ignoring the railings of Fluffy Clouds.



Here is one good piece of advice for any first-time tourist:
A city is more than its face.
Let's take Good Prospects for example. Although the brochures given out by the tour guides there scream of wheat and pizza, and although the acres past the town held a tremendous range of wheat—so enormous was the size, one could get lost frolicking in them—and although every block in the town contained at least two pizza places and dozens of residents who know how to bake at least one kind of pizza, the first-time tourist would only accumulate contempt and shame by the locals if the very first place he went to was a pizza place, if the very first question he uttered about the town was, "Do you know where to get a good pizza around here?", if the very first thing he did upon alighting in this town is lick his lips, and if the very first words he said to one of the inhabitants there were, "So, what's your favorite pizza?"
Needless to say, such a tourist would immediately be shooed out of Good Prospects.
For, there was more to Good Prospects than wheat and pizza. When one got past the scaffolds surrounding construction sites of bigger apartments and larger malls, there were enough sights and curiosities to fill a day with gladness and fond memories.
By the corner of the town was a huge obstacle course built for the specific purpose of "teaching ponies the rigors of military training—" so written on the sign welcoming whoever wanted to try out the course. Already, several ponies tried it out, both locals and foreigners. At every slowdown, they were barked at by a fake drill sergeant decked out in a camouflage outfit.
Over here, farther inside Good Prospects, was a park known as Busker Square. True to its name, it was the venue of plenty buskers, singing away the informal—and, sometimes, impromptu—lyrics of love, melancholy, or whatever other feeling they were feeling at the moment, all with a lone instrument and a speaker—and, more than a few had already gone without a speaker. Right now, a hatted stallion strummed a depressing tune and howled out melancholy and desperation, to the distress of the locals who gave him bits for the performance and to the meager pleasure of the tourists who also gave him bits for it.
Squeezed between two pizza places was a mansion painted in yellow and red. Compared to the mansions in Canterlot, this one was quite modest, having only two floors and being only as wide as two diners. A mare sat by the stairs going up to the front, counting the many bits she had in her wallet and in her purse. Beside her was a box of pizza, but she also had a box of celery on top of it. Beside the path leading up to the front door was a little garden where tomatoes and lettuces were growing, and several ponies were eating fresh salads at the outdoor tables.
Beside that mansion was one of the many pizza places in Good Prospects. Its name was "Pizza for All!"
One might then ask, "How can such a place stand out in a town where pizza is ubiquitous?"
Here was the answer: It was fun to watch.
While other pizza places partially showed how pizza was made behind glass windows and tall counters, "Pizza for All!" took that idea to its logical extreme by setting the chefs right at the middle of the restaurant. The kitchen was not at the back, nor was it at the side. Instead, it was at the most outstanding part where it could be seen and be appreciated by all without any difficulty in twisting their necks a certain way.
Here, the chefs kneaded the dough, flipped the pizzas, poured the tomato sauce, laid the cheese, planted the toppings, brought the raw pizza to a circular conveyor belt oven underneath the circular counter.
Which was transparent, so all the customers could see the pizzas cook as it slowly moved around.
Finally, when it was done, the pizza was taken out on a wooden peel, plopped on a plate, given to a waiter, and then swiftly delivered to the customer who had witnessed the complete step-by-step extravaganza of making pizza at the comfort of a cushy chair.
Garnished with that savory air, "Pizza for All!" was not normal. It was phenomenal, and, according to the quote painted on the wall and attributed to the founder of this admirable institution, Brick Oven, "we'll be open whether day or not, rain or shine, to give you pizza whether happy or sad, up or down."
A stout waiter there arranged a candle at one of the balconies overlooking the main area with most of the customers and all of the chefs. He carefully put down a sign which said "Reserved" on it. He took out a pre-inked quill and wrote on it, so that it read:
"Reserved for Big McIntosh and Cheerilee on Sunday, 7:00 PM."
He looked past the glass ceiling.
A big gray cloud incoming.
"And, I didn't bring my umbrella," Gladmane said, disappointed and fixing his name tag on his green shirt.